Man on the Bench
by Simon920
Summary: Dick Grayson's maternal grandfather shows up, wanting to bring Dick back to the family.
1. Chapter One

Title: Man on the Bench-part one

Author: Simon

Characters: Dick Grayson and Manor crew, plus OC

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Dick's maternal grandfather shows up

Warnings: none

Disclaimers: These guys aren't mine, they don't belong to me, worst luck, so don't bother me.

Archive: Fine, but if you want it, please ask first.

Feedback: Hell, yes.

And thanks to Lisa for the speedy beta…good job, sweetie!

**Man on the Bench**

**Part One**

He was sitting in then wooden bench, the one with the bronze end caps some class had given to the school as a parting gift decades ago. He was just sitting there, quietly, calmly watching the children arrive for the start of the school day.

Sipping a cup of coffee in a paper container, he sat there as the various classes went out for their gym periods, playing baseball and running laps.

He was reading a newspaper when the children came out for lunch recess and he was still there when the various parents lined up in the driveway at the end of the day.

He spoke to no one and no one spoke to him. When it seemed that the school was empty he got up, walked to a late model Jaguar sedan and left.

The next day he was back.

About half way through the second day John Denburg, one of the phys Ed teachers watched the man there, wondering about him. The man was gray haired, but not really old, wearing what seemed to be a good suit. His shoes, even from the window, seemed well shined. He didn't look like he was a threat, but it was odd and they had to be so careful with the kids who were enrolled here. St James was a private school and only either the well to do or the well connected were admitted; a good many of the families who sent their children were both the possibility of kidnapping wasn't impossible.

Well, no. It hadn't actually happened, but it easily could and they were all aware of it.

A thirty-something year old woman, a student's mother sat down on the bench beside the man as John was watching. They seemed to be chatting and he saw her point out a particular child on the playground. The man's interest was obvious even from a distance and when he got up and went over to a group of eighth graders. Well, that was enough. John went outside to see what was going on. He stood a few feet away, listening to the man talking to one of the kids—probably the richest in the school.

"I'd have known you in a crowd of a hundred young men, Richard—in a thousand. You look exactly like your mother and your eyes; no one has eyes like her—or me." He was smiling as he said that and he was probably right. Both their eyes, both the man and the boy he had singled out had the same clearest, bluest eyes John had ever seen.

"Excuse me, Dick, do you know this gentleman?"

Dick Grayson looked up, an expression of pure joy on his face. "He's my grandfather."

Skipping his usual ride home in the school van, Dick got back to the manor in Philip Lloyd's Jag, talking almost nonstop and with his grandfather giving as good as he got.

"I saw you perform, did you know that? I must have gone to a dozen shows when you were near enough to wherever I was at the time—you were incredible, son—no, don't look like that, you really were. I knew your father could do all those stunts, but when I saw you and your mother up there—good Lord, I couldn't believe it…and you were, what? Maybe five years old and flying from one trapeze to the other like you were born to it and with Mary—up there like she'd been doing it all her life!"

"You saw us? But you should have come backstage…"

"Well…I know—but I wasn't really… you amazed me, Dick, you really did!"

"Did you know I was the youngest person ever to throw a quad?—there are still only three people in the world who can do it and I'm one of them. Even my Dad couldn't do that. I was eight the first time I performed one in public and I can still…"

"You still do that sort of thing? I had no idea…where…?"

"Oh, y'know, just around, but I could show you when we get to the house, I mean, if you want…"

"Good Lord, yes, show me—show me everything, young man. Time to make up for, that's what we have; too much wasted time to make up for, that's what we have, indeed."

Five minutes later they were walking into the kitchen. "Alfred? You here? I really want you to meet someone—this is Philip Lloyd." A pause and Alfred could swear the young master smiled bigger than he'd ever seen. "He's my grandfather. Grandpa, this is Alfred Pennyworth."

The man put out his hand to shake, a distinguished looking man in a good suit, stern looking but smiling now and with Master Dick's blue eyes. Happy, that's what Alfred saw, the two of them were so happy.

"My gracious, this is an honor, sir."

The man put out his hand to shake, a distinguished looking man in a good suit, stern looking but smiling now and with Master Dick's blue eyes. Happy, that's what Alfred saw, the two of them were so happy.

"My gracious, this is an honor, sir."

"After everything you've done for Dick here, I'm proud to shake your hand, sir."

"May he stay for dinner, Alf? You can, can't you, Grandpa? He should meet Bruce and…"

"Of course he may—Mr. Lloyd, would you do the masters the honor of sharing the evening meal with them?"

"If it's no trouble, thank you, Mr. Pennyworth—and I see you've taught this one decent manners and I thank you for that."

"Grandpa?" And Alfred saw the joy when Dick said that one magical word. "C'mon, I'll show you around, okay?"

"Wait until you meet your cousins—they're just your age and…"

Though it was rare for Alfred to disturb the master at his office, this occasion seemed to warrant a call. Forewarned and forearmed being the watchwords Alfred tried to live by.

* * *

"I'm sure you can understand my feelings in this, Mr. Wayne. You've lived with the boy for five years now and I'm more grateful than I can say about what you've done for him but he belongs with his family." 

"My. Lloyd, you can't honestly think I'd just hand him over to you, do you?" They were in Bruce's study, the fire crackling softly and Alfred hovering just out of sight in the hall, anxious to hear what was going on. He would have denied it with his dying breath if confronted.

"Of course not. I realize that the two of you have become close and I wouldn't want you to lose touch with one another—he's lost so much already; certainly I'd encourage contact between the two of you, but he's my grandson. I believe I'm the best person to raise him, to make decisions that will guide him as he gets older. He should take his place as part of his own family, get to know us, spend a good deal of time with his grandmother and myself—maybe visit with his aunt and uncle and see what it's like to have a whole group of people who love him."

"Dick has people who love him right here."

"Yes, of course and we're grateful for that, but now he needs to come home."

Not knowing about Alfred's call to Bruce a couple of hours ago, Dick had also called him at the office that afternoon, excited, almost giddy with the news that his mother's father had come to school and spoken to him—was it alright if he had dinner with them? They had so much to talk about and wanted to see where he was living and wanted to meet Bruce and Alfred and see everything and learn everything he could and they could talk about his parents and…it was alright, wasn't it?

Bruce had left the office as soon as he'd hung up, gone home and found out everything he could about Philip Lloyd. There was a bit to know. Yes, Bruce had checked all Dick's relatives when the boy first came to the Manor, but beyond knowing that they weren't involved in anything illegal, didn't want custody and would agree to sign away any claims to Bruce's money he really hadn't paid much attention after the guardianship papers had been approved. He'd made it clear that they could see Dick, have him visit for family functions, call or write him whenever they wanted but almost none of them did. In five years his contact with his blood relatives had consisted of a few mailed Christmas presents, a very few letters or brief phone calls and little else. They became non-entities in his life and Bruce was just as glad. It made things less complicated.

Philip Lloyd, on the other hand was someone who might become a problem.

He was the head partner of a large law firm based in Chicago that specialized in corporate law and offshore mergers and contracts. They listed twenty-seven of the Fortune 500 on their client list. He was a regular lecturer at both Harvard's and Yale's law schools and annually took fifteen of their top students as summer interns. Oh, and his firm had a department which employed some of the best family law people in the country on staff as well.

He was married to his wife of forty-odd years, Carolyn and had a surviving daughter, Patricia, who was also married with three children—Dick's cousins.

The man had the finances and the backing to make serious trouble if he took it into his mind to do so.

The question Bruce had been unable to answer was why he'd shown up now the way he had. Surely a phone call or letter would have been a better, less disruptive way to let them know he wanted to have some kind of relationship with his grandson. Why handle it like this if not to win Dick over before anyone had a chance to sit down and think about this.

And, because Bruce was at heart an honest man, he had to wonder if Philip Lloyd was right. Would Dick be better off with his real family? "But why now? Why didn't you take him in five years ago when his parents were killed? You must know how difficult this will be for him—he's settled here, he likes his school, he has friends and he's thriving. I don't understand why… You were contacted the night the Grayson's were killed and you refused him then. In fact, you refused to even contribute to or attend the funerals and not once in those five years have you ever visited Dick or gone so far as to pick up the phone to ask how he was doing. Why the change of heart?"

"Because it's time—past time, in fact. Five years ago—I'm ashamed at how I reacted then and I was wrong, terribly wrong to cut him off the way I did and, God help me, that's something I've had to live with. I want to correct a terrible wrong I did to that child and to his parents as well." Philip shifted in the leather chair, sipping his wine. "I know it's less than a poor excuse, but I'm embarrassed to say my daughter and I were estranged when she was killed—something that was my own fault, I add. I disapproved of John Grayson, forbade the marriage. She ignored me and I cut her off, removed her from my will and—well, all of it. I did see Dick once, when he was three months old. Mary surprised me at my office with him, hoping for a reconciliation, but I was still angry and, well, I acted badly."

"And now your conscience is bothering you?"

"My conscience has been bothering me since the day she walked out and married Grayson." He took a longer drink of his wine and refilled his glass from the bottle on the tray. "When they were killed—I simply couldn't…I couldn't bear to—I was unable to face…" He hesitated. "I'm ashamed of how I behaved then. I couldn't give Dick a home then because…" Another pause. "I saw his picture in the papers and he looks so very much like Mary—I knew I couldn't have him near me then. Every time I looked at him I'd see her and I couldn't…I wasn't able to bear that and I would have been too hard on him so I, as you know, I stayed away."

Christ, emotional blackmail was the lowest form of… "Surely there are better ways of assuaging your ego than taking a child away from a home where he's happy."

"I loved my daughter, Mr. Wayne. I—regret what I did and now I want to make it up in whatever way I can. Beyond that, Dick is my grandson. I want to make sure he's raised well, that he has whatever he wants and needs. It's not very complicated."

"He's hardly living hand to mouth here." Bruce didn't like the way this was going. All this raw feeling, the emotion made him uncomfortable.

"I'm aware of that, but as good as you've been to him, the fact remains that he's part of my family, my daughter's son and he should be raised by his own blood."

"You realize that…"

Philip held up his hand to stop whatever Bruce was about to say concerning the legalities. "Yes, I know you're his legal guardian, but we both know that this would go through the courts and generate entirely too much publicity which would be bad for Dick. I'm sure we both want to avoid that."

The shoe was about to drop; Bruce had been through enough negotiations to know when someone was making their move. "And you have a suggestion?"

"I propose that you sign over his guardianship to me and my wife, with my daughter and her husband named as seconds should anything happen to us. You would, naturally, be allowed ample visitation and contact."

The gall of the damn man.

"You know as well as I do I won't do that. I would be willing to have you establish a relationship with him, but I'll retain his guardianship."

"Mr. Wayne—he's part of my family."

"And he's part of mine as well, Mr. Lloyd." Bruce wasn't comfortable discussing such things and to do so with a stranger was even harder, but… "Your daughter was his mother but he's my son as much as he was John Grayson's in every way but fact. He belongs here now."

"He belongs with his blood family. Do you want to be the one to explain to him that he can't go home?"

"He is home. Fight me and you'll lose."

"Oh, no, Mr. Wayne. Fight me and Dick loses—and so will you."

They both heard the footsteps in the hallway, despite the thick carpeting. "Bruce, Grandpa? Alfred says dinner is ready." The tension between the two men was obvious and caused Dick pause. "Is something wrong?"

"Your grandfather thinks it would be a good idea for you to visit with your family for a while."

Dick knew there was a whole lot more to whatever was going on than just an innocent family visit. Both men were staring at him as if waiting for him to make some kind of decision.

"Um, okay. That sounds alright." There was more to this than just a long weekend with some new cousins or something. "What's this really about?"

Clearly angry, Bruce eyes fixed at some point just past Dick's shoulder, jaw clenching—not a good sign. Philip Lloyd broke the awkward silence. "Bruce and I were just discussing that I think it would be a good idea for you if you spent more time with your real family, quite a lot more time—got to know us, let us get to know you as well."

"You mean more than just a visit? Like you want me to move or something?" That was it; he'd gotten it in one. "No way. I mean, thanks and everything, but no way."

"Now, son, let's not rule anything out quite yet—there's no reason to make a decision right now—there's plenty of time."

Dick, taught by his mother and Alfred to never be rude, just stared at his grandfather, the stranger in front of him. This was why he'd shown up today? This was what he wanted after five years—no, not five years, fourteen years of nothing? 'Hi, kid, good to see you, pack your bag and let's get going, now you have a real family and we're finally willing to acknowledge that you exist.'

No.

He wouldn't do it. He wouldn't.

No.

They were both looking at him, wanting him to say something but…no. He wouldn't. This was bullshit.

He was the kid here, they were the adults and they were waiting for him to do something, say something, and make a decision that would make them all happy?

A log fell in the fireplace, sparks danced and hissed.

They were the adults—this wasn't right.

No.

"Gentlemen, dinner is ready if you would be so good as to remove yourselves to the dining room."

The dinner was strained, the conversation awkward now that Dick understood that this wasn't just an attempt for his grandfather to merely see him, but to make him understand that the best place for him was with his relatives. Or, as Philip Lloyd kept saying, 'his blood family'.

Sure, he was happy, thrilled, overjoyed to know his real family hadn't completely forgotten him, but to expect him to just pick up and leave?

No.

Wasn't going to happen.

"Why did you disapprove of my father so much that you wouldn't speak to my mother anymore?"

"Dick…I loved Mary so very much. All I wanted, all any of us wanted was for her to be happy and I just didn't think that…"

"That my father was good enough for her. And since I'm half him, I'm not good enough, either so you waited fourteen years before introducing yourself."

"Of course not…"

Shaking his head, Dick mumbled 'excuse me' and left the room. Philip, embarrassed, said he knew he should be going and apologized for the upset—he truly hadn't meant to cause trouble for anyone in the house—disingenuous as that may sound—and would be in touch the next day.

Bruce nodded—how could the man say such garbage and think it went unnoticed? Whether or not he wanted Dick for himself, as a member of the family or had some ulterior motive, surely he had to know this was the worst possible way to go about it. Bruce saw Lloyd to the door, watched the car's lights recede down the driveway then went looking for Dick.

After a quick search he saw the lights on in the gym located in the far wing of the Manor and made his way there, finding Dick on the high bar going through a routine he was improvising as he went along. It was one of Dick's standard ways to let off steam; going up on the bar and working till he had exorcized whatever was troubling him. This time it was with a series of advanced moves, giant swings and release to catch tricks Bruce doubted anyone else in the world could do; and certainly not with Dick's style, grace and ability.

He amazed even Bruce when he worked like this; no one could move like that, no one. And Dick was only fourteen, by the time he was twenty, there wouldn't be a gymnast in the world who would be anywhere close to his abilities.

Finally, after many long minutes of constant movement Dick ended with a series of increasingly fast giant swings to release, tuck and turned his quad, sticking the landing, arms raised as his parents had taught him.

Slowly, breathing only slightly harder than usual, he lowered his arms and looked calmly at Bruce standing at the edge of the mat.

"Not now, alright? Talk to me about it tomorrow."

Dick walked up to his room for a shower, homework and bed.

* * *

"With all respect, sir, I fear you must consider that this might well be the right thing for the young master, no matter how we may feel about the possibility. As Mr. Lloyd professed, he is the lad's grandfather, after all." 

That brought almost a half smile to Bruce. "You're more of a grandfather to him than that man, Alfred and Dick would agree if we asked him."

"I would never presume, sir."

"You don't have to; a fact is a fact."

* * *

The next morning was Saturday, a later start to the day than during the week. Around eight-thirty Bruce sat down to breakfast with Dick, who started without preamble. 

"Bruce, I don't know what to do about this. He's my grandfather and that's important. I want to get to know him and the others but I don't want to give up what I have here with you and Alfred. And I don't want to give up Robin and I'd have to if I left here."

That was so like Dick to state simply and concisely how he saw the problem and his thoughts on it. So like him.

"There's no reason you'd have to—so long as you were here. You know as well as I do that if you were to live with one of your relatives in Connecticut it would simply become too complicated for…"

"I know." Dick was moving his eggs around with his fork. "But I want to be part of them—they're my family, he's my mother's father."

Of course, and Dick still missed his parents desperately even if he almost never talked about them. "There's no reason why you couldn't visit them when you want; they're not that far away—less than two hours. That wouldn't be a problem."

"I know that, but he wants me to either move in with him or my cousins and I don't know if I want to. They're total strangers and they threw out my Mom when she hooked up with my father." More egg playing, this time with a piece of bacon. "That sucks."

"I don't know if Alfred would agree with your terminology, but you're right; that sucks." Bruce took a drink of his orange juice—fresh squeezed using the old hand squeezer that had been in the kitchen since he was a child. "The obvious thing would be to go see them, maybe spend a weekend to start, see how you get along. Maybe some of the questions you have would be answered for you."

Still drawing pictures with his bacon and eggs, Dick nodded. "That would probably be a good idea. Um, I'll go call them—if it's alright could I get a ride?"

"Of course."

A decision made, Dick ate what was on his plate, destroying the piece of art he'd been working on.

Ten minutes after that he came back into the dining room. "I just spoke to my aunt. She says that since it's a long weekend, I should join them; they were all about to go skiing, so could I meet them up at Butternut?"

"In Massachusetts? Sure—do you know where they're staying up there?"

"The said they own a condo and that they have enough room."

"Alright, look, that has to be more than a three hour drive and it's after nine now. Why don't I send you up in the chopper?"

"God, Bruce—no! They'll think I'm a rich jackass if I show up in a Wayne helicopter."

Of course. He should have thought about that.

"Okay. Well, unfortunately I have to work—a meeting I can't cancel at the last minute and I'd rather Alfred didn't have to make a long drive like that. I'll call Tom and have him drive you."

Tom was one of Bruce's many flunkies—he would be okay with it and Dick liked the man. "Fine—thank you. I'll call them back to tell them I can go and get packed—I shouldn't be long."

Less than an hour later he was loaded into the car and heading north to meet who was left of his family.

TBC

11


	2. Chapter Two

Title: Man on the Bench-part two

Author: Simon

Characters: Dick Grayson and Manor crew, plus OC

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Dick meets the family

Warnings: none

Disclaimers: These guys aren't mine, they don't belong to me, worst luck, so don't bother me.

Archive: Fine, but if you want it, please ask first.

Feedback: Hell, yes.

Okay, okay. I know that ski lifts are better constructed and have more safeties now, but work with me here so Dick can show off a little.

Thanks, Lisa.

**The Man on the Bench**

Part Two 

They arrived at the Lloyd family condo on the slopes of Butternut around twelve-thirty in the afternoon and as soon as Bruce's relatively understated BMW pulled into the parking area the door to number seven opened and a woman stepped out wrapping Dick in a strong hug. A man—presumably her husband, trailed behind and patted Dick's shoulder while he was caught in his aunt's arms. When he could extricate himself enough to pull back a few inches he stared at the woman who looked almost exactly like the picture of his mother he'd carried in his mind for the last six years, the only difference being that this woman was blonder and a little heavier. His Mom had been small and as slender as…well, there was no point in going there.

"I'd know you anywhere, honey—you look just like your mom, just like her with those eyes of hers—oh, and that straight black hair…I swear, you could have been cloned from her. Oh, sweetie, you don't know how long I've wanted to meet you—much too long—but we're going to make it all right from now on, aren't we?" She looked towards the open doorway where three boys ranging from maybe ten to fifteen were hanging back. "You three get over here and help with this stuff."

"These are your cousins, Dick—Chip, Steve and Peter. Oh, listen to me—and I'm your Aunt Pat and this is your Uncle James. Alright, now that we all know who's who, have you had your lunch yet?"

"No, but I had a big breakfast and…"

"None of that. If you four are going to make some runs this afternoon, you need some food in you."

The cousins came out and looked him over, just like he was doing to them and the first thing he noticed was that they didn't look like what Dick thought of as 'Grayson', not even a little. They all had sandy or dirty blond hair and not blue eyes, but seemed willing enough to be friendly.

Tom sort of coughed. "Dick? I'll be back to pick you up Monday—what time would be good for you, M'am?"

"Oh, you needn't bother, we'll take him home when we go back after lunch, don't trouble about it."

"But I thought you all lived in Connecticut—that's like an hour and a half from where I live—Tom can come get me, it's really not a problem."

"Son, you're family. We're not about to just ship you off like a package. Now, no argument—we'll make sure you get home and that's final."

"But Bruce is expecting Tom to drive me."

"Well, we'll just let him know, that's all."

Dick glanced at Tom. "You better call tomorrow or something and ask Bruce what's going on."

Nodding, Tom got back in the Beamer and left, wondering if he'd be making the drive back in two days or not.

His aunt had her arm around his shoulders as they walked inside. "I'm sorry that your grandparents aren't here yet, but they're still on the road and they tend to go a little slower than we do."

This was apparently a family joke since the cousins all started laughing. "Right, Mom, if Gram's driving they'll get here like on Thursday."

"Chip—you behave yourself!"

Inside, the cousins took Dick's bag to what looked like a dorm room with three sets of bunks, "Mom and dad got these so we'd all be able to bring friends, but we didn't this trip, so you can have your choice."

"How come we've never met you if you're supposed to be our cousin?"

"Because my Mom married someone they thought was scum."

"So that makes you the son of scum?" If Steve hadn't been smiling, Dick would have clocked him.

"Pretty much."

"Welcome to the pond, scum." Steve was okay.

"Boys? Lunch is ready."

"C'mon—Mom really gets her panties in a knot if we miss a meal. I think it has something to do with starving children in India or something."

"I should call home and let them know I'm here, first—is that okay?"

"Sure, no problem. The phone's in the kitchen, c'mon."

"Hey, Alfred? I'm here…I'm fine…Yes, they all met me and everyone seems very nice…Well, we were just about to have lunch then hit the mountain…You may want to talk to Tom about how I'm getting home; the Lloyd's say they'll drop me off, but if Bruce would rather…I know…I will…'K…Bye."

"Dick, honey? It's not a big deal, but my dad is a Lloyd and so was until she married John, and I'm a Simpson since I got married."

Of course, that would make sense. "I guess I should have known you have a different name—sorry." Duh, Grayson.

His aunt gave him another small hug. "Don't you worry about it. Now hurry up and eat so you can get out on the hill."

Lunch, grilled cheese and soup were basic enough, and Dick was just as happy to have something to take the immediate attention away from him, truth be told. He may have been better than most at fitting in when he wanted to, but this was weird, even for him and it was awkward to know that these people were his family and he was just now meeting them for the first time in his life. Finishing his food quickly, he went back to what he had mentally named the dorm room to change into his gear.

He pulled on his ski pants and had the windbreaker on when one of the cousins—he wasn't completely sure which was which yet, came in and saw the old lift pass on the zipper pull.

"Innsbruck? You skied Innsbruck?"

"Christmas. We went over for a week. Hey, does Grandpa ski with us? Is he here?"

The unknown cousin seemed alright. "He skis with my parents and so does Gram—right, I guess you haven't met her yet, but she's pretty much okay—just don't belch or swear in front of her and you should be fine. Oh, and watch your grammar in front of her, too. Anyway, they say they can't keep up with us so they go off by themselves and usually meet us up on the hill for lunch—except today, and then after skiing we get cleaned up and we go out for dinner." The cousin put on a turtleneck over his tee. "So, how are you on the hill? Can you stay on your feet?" It was a challenge, no doubt about it.

"I'm okay."

"You're on. You manage Lucifer's Leap first try without falling, I'll believe you."

Whatever. Obviously that was the killer trail around here. He wasn't worried—Dick's father had started him on skis when he was two years old and he'd been boarding since he was ten. He shouldn't have any problems, especially at a place that billed itself as a 'family ski resort'. Now Kitzbuhl—that was a big hill.

* * *

The mountain was decent in an east coast sort of way. It wasn't any Deer Valley or Sun Valley and wasn't anywhere near the Alps, but it was doable.

Dick and the cousins spent the afternoon boarding the advanced slopes and though Dick could have run circles around them, he was tactful and held himself in check—though he did throw a couple of flips off the jumps and a full double layout on the last run.

They were suitably impressed.

With the sun disappearing behind the hill, not wanting to deal with the lights and knowing that if they were late back they'd get in trouble, the four of them took one last run. Boarding, having more fun than he thought he would under the circumstances, it suddenly struck Dick that he liked these guys—they were family, they were cousins he hadn't known existed and he actually liked them—he was having a good time and, damn, it felt really great.

Ever since his parents had died, as terrific as Bruce and Alfred were and no matter how cool it was to fly as Robin—damn—these people were family.

The word was almost magic to Dick and he was having trouble keeping the grin off his face. He had an aunt and uncle, three cousins and a full set of grandparents.

God, this was incredible.

Amazing.

Fantastic.

Okay, not meeting them till now was sucky, but that was yesterday's news and—damn—he had family!

Slaloming down to the slope door to the chalet, the boys unbuckled their bindings and, boards over their shoulders, clumped their way up to their condo, calling dibs on the shower as they went.

Dick was in heaven.

"Hey, you okay?" It was one of the cousins, probably Peter. They had both showered and were sitting around the dorm, relaxing, semi-sprawled on the bunks. The other two were watching TV in the other room and the parents weren't back yet.

"I was just wondering when I get to meet our grandmother, that's all."

"Yeah, well, you might as well know; she's sort of freaked about you showing up—no, it's nothing you did. I heard them all talking last night and when Grandpa told her that you look exactly like your mother she got pretty upset. She made some comment to Grandpa that your Mom wouldn't have gone off and gotten killed if he hadn't been so stubborn and pig headed, so she might seem a little weird tonight at dinner…just thought you should know."

Great. "…Yeah, thanks."

"Don't let it get you down or anything—they're practically shitting that you're here. Mom and Dad were even saying how they'd really like it if you moved in with us and all."

"But you barely know me and I already live with…"

"Yeah, we know; Bruce Wayne, the richest man in the universe or whatever. They still think you should be with us."

"Yeah, well, we like just met, y'know? I have a life—school, friends and all of that. I don't know if I really want to just pick up and shift gears again. I've been through it once already and it wasn't exactly what I'd call fun."

"I wouldn't think." Peter stretched out on his back "You really grew up as a trapeze flyer in a traveling circus?"

"Until my parents were killed, that was when I was eight."

"That sounds pretty cool." Peter looked almost jealous before he caught what he'd just said. "I mean, you know, the circus part."

"…It's okay." Dick managed a semi-smile. "Yeah, it was."

An hour later they were in one of the usual steak places that seem to sprout up around ski areas complete with the typical décor of stuffed bears and antique skis crossed over the bar. Dick was trying to be cool about the whole thing but it was starting to slip while he waited to meet his grandmother for the first time.

Finally, finally he saw them approach the table.

"Dick?" She stood there staring at him as hard as he was staring at her. She was gray-haired and slender to the point of almost looking frail but with that aura about her some older women have; the look that lets you know that they spend all day either riding a bike around the neighborhood or out in a prize winning garden when they weren't running the State-wide Planned Parenthood organization or raising Christ knew how much money for some incredibly good cause then going out to swim their daily forty laps or play a couple sets of tennis. And she would probably still be skiing when she was ninety.

"My God, you were right, Philip—Dick—you could be your mother's twin. Oh, my Lord." Then she had him in a hug he though would break ribs, murmuring things he didn't quite hear but knew what they meant anyway. "It's almost like having Mary back—oh, you have no idea…"

Insisting that he sit next to her during the meal, she kept touching him—stroking his arm, putting her hand on his or cupping his cheek as though she was afraid he'd disappear if she let go. Thank God at least she was sensitive enough to not pepper him with unnecessary questions and bristled when Pat tried to ask him too many things about how his life had been the last five or so years—and how he had lived before that.

"You leave him alone—he's just got here, give him some time to settle in, for God's sake. And you—you eat that cheesecake, you look too thin to me—don't you get enough food at that fancy mansion you've been living in? I think I'll have to call that man and see what he's been feeding you." Thank God she was laughing when she said it since Dick was starting to picture Alfred explaining his daily diet over the phone. "We'll make sure you have whatever you need from now on, don't you worry about that, Dick—you don't have anything to worry about, not as far as having a family is concerned, and that's a promise."

Dick noticed that his Grandfather was quiet during the meal, pleasant and polite, even joking a little, but still quiet—and he seemed to be watching Dick as well.

It was a little disconcerting after the way they'd been joking and talking when he'd been over to the Manor.

In fact the whole trip was strange—but when you came down to it, how could it be any different? Everyone was nice and kind and solicitous towards him and all of that but he felt like he was under a microscope. Sure, he was used to being watched—you couldn't grow up the way he had with Haley's and then being Robin—not to mention the whole 'being Bruce Wayne's ward' circus without having people single you out and stare at you, but this wasn't the same. These weren't strangers—well, okay, sure they were, but they were family too and that was what made it weird.

Later that night, when the kids were supposed to be sleeping, the oldest cousin, Peter, whispered to Dick in the next bunk. "You awake?"

"Yeah."

"Don't let them get to you; they mean well, they're just sort of weirded out about the whole thing, y'know?"

"Yeah, I guess…thanks."

"No problem…hey, tomorrow? I'm gonna so kick your ass on the hill."

"In your dreams."

* * *

"Is something troubling you beyond the obvious, sir?"

They were down in the cave, Bruce—no, at the moment he was Batman and had been working on the computer for hours. "I think I've found something, but I need to check a few more things."

"Something concerning the young master's family?"

"His grandfather."

"My understanding was that the man was above reproach, other than his unfortunate choice regarding his non-acceptance of Master Dick's parents decision to marry."

"It appears that may not be his only poor decision."

"Indeed?"

* * *

"Ahhh, shit. I can't friggin believe this."

The four cousins were on one of the quad lifts headed for the top of the hill again when they jerked to a complete and unexpected stop, just hanging in the air along with the dozens of other skiers and boarders who were as equally stuck.

"What happened this time? Man…"

They knew what had happened. It was the same kind of thing that always happened on the lift—some jerks about five chairs ahead of them had been screwing around and a ski pole had become wedged in the pulleys. They could see where the problem was; it was right in front of them. Pain in the ass—they could be stuck for a while and to make it even better, it was feeling like the storm that had been threatening all morning was finally moving in, if the look of the clouds and the wind were any indicators. And to make it even better, Chip was starting to get really cold since he'd splashed through a stream a couple of runs ago.

Shit.

They waited a while, seemingly hours, but probably really about twenty minutes with no word or anything, the temperature was dropping by the minute and the wind was picking up. Chip was starting to cry. This wasn't good—well, alright, screw it. Time to do something Bruce would kill him for if he found out.

Luckily they had stopped in a section where they were mostly hidden from the rest of the hill by a large grove of tall pines. Reaching down and releasing his binding, Dick handed his board to Peter and said, "Just don't move, okay?"

"What the fuck are you doing? Are you out of your mind?…Dude, it's like thirty feet down…Dick, hey, stop, man—you'll get killed."

Dick pulled himself up so that he was standing on the bench and made a quick job of shinnying up the hang pole to the cable, making his way hand over hand to the support post fifty feet ahead of them.

Okay. Fine. Now all he had to do was get the cable unstuck and being the good little Robin he was, he had a couple of his belt tools in one of his pockets. Always be prepared, right?

Balancing on the support he sparked the small blowtorch, hiding what he was doing with his body and managed to get cut the offending ski pole and get the thing unjammed just as the ski patrol was making their way down the slope below them.

The chair should be able to move now.

Scrambling back to the chair faster than his cousins would have thought possible, he was seated and looking completely innocent by the time the patrol had gotten to the trouble spot, now no longer a problem.

"Jesus, Dude, you're amazing!" "How the hell did you…?" "Man, you have GOT to show me how to do that!"

Dick stared his cousins into submission with a quick "Shut the fuck up, will you? I'll lose my pass if they find out what I just did."

That got them. Losing a pass was death.

They could see the patrol guys looking at the torched pole, shaking their heads in confusion. One of them climbed the pole to make sure it was a go and with a couple minutes of back and forth on the radios, the lift started up again with cheers heard up and down the lift line.

In the hilltop restaurant for lunch they were on time to meet the rest of the family for lunch.

"You should have seen what Dick did when we got stuck on the quad this morning, Grandma—he was awesome…"

"Oh, what did he do, Chippy?"

"We were stuck and…" Steve kicked him under the table.

"…He used his cell to call the ski patrol. He really saved our butts up there."

Well…alright. "…That's wonderful, dear. Quick thinking, Dick."

Peter pulled Dick aside while the others got their food. "Okay, how did you do that, really?"

Dick shrugged. "Circus rat."

TBC

1/18/05

9


	3. Chapter Three

Title: Man on the Bench-part three

Author: Simon

Characters: Dick Grayson and Manor crew, plus OC

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Dick learns about the estrangement

Warnings: none

Disclaimers: These guys aren't mine, they don't belong to me, worst luck, so don't bother me.

Archive: Fine, but if you want it, please ask first.

Feedback: Hell, yes.

**The Man on the Bench**

Part Three 

"I thought that you might like to see some of these, Dick. Come on over here with me."

Dick's newly discovered grandmother, Carolyn to her friends, Gram to Dick's generation, gestured him over to the couch in front of the condo's fireplace, the large photo album resting in her lap. The rest of the family were busy with their own interests, reading, talking, playing video games while they looked over now and then with comments and jokes.

Page by page the two leafed through the book, snapshots of his unknown family growing up in front of him. Baby pictures of his mother, toddler years laughing in a swimsuit on some beach and her mother's too big sunglasses. Years of school pictures, all taken in front of the same blue screen. There she was dressed for her first communion looking pious in a white party dress and veil, birthday parties with clowns or ponies in the backyard. High school dances in formals standing next to awkward boyfriends. Summer camp, Halloween costumes, sitting on a department store Santa's lap, a trip to Disney World, slumber parties with a group of giggling girls, Brownies, swim meets, cheerleading at some football game laughing and wearing a huge chrysanthemum corsage. High School graduation in cap and gown. Showing off her first car, smiling from the driver's seat.

All the usual things you'd find in any family's album, but things Dick had never seen before and he found himself touching each picture in turn as though trying to capture the memories he couldn't have known. Much as he was engrossed in the part of his mother's life he'd never really known about, it angered him to see what she'd been forced to give up just because she'd fallen in love with someone these people didn't think was up to snuff.

"She loved you and your father so much, honey. You've no idea." Gram had her arm around his waist.

"I know." He looked at her, she was wrong. "I do have an idea, a pretty good one, in fact." Which brought up what he'd wanted to know since he was old enough to understand what he'd heard his mother crying about after she'd though he was asleep. "Even if you didn't like my father, why did you cut her off after they were married, after I was born?"

"Your grandfather didn't think that the life she'd chosen was—appropriate." Carolyn seemed to find that difficult.

"Because of my father or because of the circus—or both?"

"John was a lovely man and…"

"Spare me. As soon as they hooked up she never really saw any of you again—how come?" Dick really didn't mean to be obnoxious, he really didn't, but this was something that had been festering ever since he'd understood it was what that made his mother cry.

"Mary always knew that whenever she wanted to see us or…"

Right, sure she did—if she got a divorce or something. "Bullshit. She used to cry at night because she wanted to see you and she wanted you to know me and my father—she cried all the time when she didn't think I'd hear her."

"We never meant for anything like that to happen, Dick, you have to understand that. You need to understand that we loved her and just wanted what was best for her—and for you as well, just like we're concerned about what's best for you now." She gave him a searching look as though willing the child to understand the actions of adults years before he was born. The others in the room were watching, listening.

This was total crap. Alfred's manners or not, this was garbage.

"You were so concerned that when I was thrown into the state foster care system you couldn't be bothered to get me out or stake any kind of a claim. Did you even know that I spent the weeks after my parents were killed locked up in Juvie because the system screwed up? Did you know that? Bruce was the one who got me out of there when he found out—you didn't do shit. You were so concerned that when a total stranger gave me a place to live you let it ride for five years. You were so upset that when he finalized a legal guardianship you never made a single protest—you never even bothered to show up at the fucking hearings or meet him before signing away any rights you might have had." Dick was becoming really upset, breathing hard, face flushed, muscles tense. "You couldn't be bothered." He looked around the room. "None of you could be bothered."

"Dick, it wasn't like that. We did care and we tried to…"

"You sure didn't bust much of a sweat, did you? Isn't he—" Dick looked at his Grandfather "—supposed to be some hotshot lawyer? That's what Bruce told me—head of some big law firm in the city and you couldn't assign a couple of your associates to maybe make a couple of phone calls? Heavy caseload that week, was it?"

"Dick, honey, let me explain what was going on then…"

"I know, your daughter was just killed and you were upset. You know something? So was I." He stood up, the fight suddenly going out of him, at least for now. "Look, I'm, I'm going for a walk." One of the cousins started to put on his jacket to go along, shrugged a question to Dick then followed him over to the front door. "We'll be back in a while."

* * *

"But the man is reasonably wealthy in his own right, sir. Surely the motive couldn't have been simply money? After all, the young master is his grandson."

"Alfred, look at the facts here. What else could it be?"

* * *

Dick and Peter, the oldest cousin, walked almost two miles before either one of them said anything. Then the conversation was quiet, matter of fact.

"Were you really locked up in a cell when your parents were killed?"

"They died at like ten at night and then the authorities said it was too late to find a temporary foster family and they wouldn't let me stay with the circus people—which was lame. Those were the people I knew; that was where I wanted to be but instead I was loaded into a police car then some jerk case worker lost my file and I ended up staying there for almost a month." Another block passed. "Bruce got me out, let me stay with him and then he filed for adoption but that was rejected because he's not married. He went for legal guardianship instead."

"How old were you?"

"Eight, almost nine."

"How come Bruce Wayne cared? Did you know him or something?"

Dick shook his head. "He was there when they were killed; it was a benefit performance for some charity and Wayne Corp was one of the sponsors. He didn't know I'd been lost in the system for like three weeks but as soon as he found out he got me out."

"You know, we—me and my brothers— didn't know you even existed until like an hour before you showed up here."

Dick gave a small laugh. "And vice versa. Nice to meet you."

Peter returned his small laugh. "I'd caught some talk I wasn't supposed to growing up about how Mom had a sister who'd died somehow, but they never talked about you, you know—we really didn't know about you. It was one of those things we all knew we weren't supposed to ask about."

Dick shook his head, his voice; both of their voices still quiet. "But what I don't understand was why cut me off? I was this little kid, I was orphaned—what the fuck did I ever do to them, y'know?—and why contact me now?"

"I don't know why now, but I know they're really excited that you're here. But you're right, it's pretty screwed up and you got me why it happened."

"That's fucked." Dick turned around, headed back the way they'd come.

"Yeah, it is."

"I'm getting cold, let's go in here." It was a Starbucks, a place Dick usually avoided like the plague, but he wanted to warm up and they served hot chocolate. Besides, any port in a storm.

* * *

"Really, Philip, how could you have just turned up at the child's school like that? You could have gotten yourself arrested if you hadn't been careful! You were practically stalking the boy and you're lucky you didn't scare him half to death."

"Carolyn. That's enough—you know as well as I do that if we're going forward with this then we might as well just get started and if we have Dick on our side, if he sees that we mean him no harm it will be much easier in the long run."

"There was no reason why we couldn't have called the child or written a letter to get him used to the idea and you know that as well as I do."

"This way he gets to know us a little, he sees how much fun he can have with the boys and he'll…"

"He'll what? Go home to a big empty house on a hill and feel homesick for some people who are almost strangers to him? And had it occurred to you that he might resent us the way he does after the way you treated poor Mary? And John—I don't think you ever said a civil word to the man in all the years they were together. No wonder the poor thing ran out of here all upset."

"He'll be back. Peter will talk some commonsense to him and they'll be back here and you'll see that he's just fine."

"Oh, really Philip—I just hope that you're right."

"I am. You'll see."

"Well, for his sake…"

* * *

"Y'know, Dick, even though it sounds like Grandpa was kinda shitty to your Mom and Dad, I think he really does want to make it up to you."

"Yeah, well, maybe he does, but I live with Bruce an Alfred and they're really great—I don't want to move or anything."

"Who's Alfred? He like Bruce's father or brother or something?"

"Technically he's the butler, but he raised Bruce after his parents were killed and he's sort of like a grandfather to me. He does pretty much everything around the house."

The two boys were slowly strolling back to the condo with their large cups of hot chocolate as they talked.

"What's it like living with Bruce Wayne? He's like the richest man in the world, isn't he?"

Dick hated questions like that. Sure Bruce was super rich, everyone knew that, but there was no reason to talk about it all the time and it wasn't like Peter's family was on welfare or anything.

"It's, I don't know—he's got money but he's really not into showing off with it. I mean he has nice things, but it's not to impress people—not usually, anyway. He has nice stuff because a lot of it was there from his parents and grandparents. He doesn't really spend all that much on himself, considering."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"So if you wanted, say, a fancy car or something, would you get it?"

"You mean when I get a license? I doubt it. I guess I'll get something to drive, but it won't be a Lamborghini or anything."

"Honda Civic?"

"Oh, God…! Maybe a Miata, at least."

"Nah, no trunk space—hold out for the Z."

"I'll keep that in mind." That was the first thing to make Dick laugh since he'd stormed out and he suddenly realized that, if nothing else, he was really glad he'd met his cousins.

When the two boys walked back into the condo Dick was met by his grandmother and aunt, both of them asking of he was alright, was he warm enough, suggesting he take a nice hot shower and could they please talk with him? They'd been so worried and upset and thank God he and Peter were back.

"I'm alright—I'm sorry I kinda walked out, but…"

"Not a word, dear. You had every right to be upset about how your grandfather treated Mary and John and I'd like to talk to you about it when you're ready." Carolyn had her hand on his arm and Pat looked like she'd been crying. "We just found you, Dick, we don't want to lose you again, alright?"

He nodded. He wasn't sure what was really going on, but he didn't want to be exiled to Siberia again, either.

"Come over here and let me tell you what happened between your mother and her father. Come on, sit here next to me."

They were back on the same couch they'd used earlier to look through the albums, the fire a little lower, but still burning in front of them.

"Philip and Mary were as close as any parent and child I've ever seen—I used to almost be jealous of the two of them when I'd see them out together. He'd have her up on her horse or a bike and he'd just glow looking at her—isn't that right, Pat?"

His aunt was on the chair next to the couch, close enough to put a hand on his knee. "I used to wonder what I could do to get him to treat me the way he treated Mary, Dick—she could do no wrong as far as he was concerned. None. She was just perfect to him and when she got a little older and started dating he made it pretty clear that no one was good enough."

Carolyn smiled at that. It was true. "Well, he never really bothered about any of her high school boyfriends because he knew they didn't really matter, that they'd disappear sooner or later but then when she met your Dad, well, they just sort of clicked and that had him worried."

Dick looked at his grandmother as she talked, though he wasn't sitting as close as he had been when they were looking through the album. "How did they meet? I never knew."

"Well, the summer before Mary was supposed to leave for Radcliff she worked as a volunteer at the local hospital three days a week. The circus had been through town the week before and John had been injured somehow; she met him there." She smiled at the memory. "She would come home and just go on and on about him—he was so handsome and funny, he was such a gentleman, so polite. I knew she had a crush on him, but I just thought he'd be released soon and then he'd rejoin the show and be gone so that would be the end of it."

"And that's not what happened." Of course it wasn't, they'd ended up married, but Dick wanted to hear.

"When he was released from the hospital Mary asked if he could stay with us for a couple of days because he had to wait for the money to arrive for his bus fare to wherever the show had gone—why they didn't just wire it, I don't know, but it had been mailed and was slow arriving. Well, I didn't think a lot about it since I knew it was very temporary, but then he got to the house and…"

"And what?"

"He was everything Mary said he was; he was a beautiful man, well spoken, intelligent, kind and he treated her like a princess—he just doted on her and it was plain that she adored him right back. Then the next day your grandfather found them up in Mary's bed together and absolutely saw red. He was outraged that John would do something like that when he was a guest in the house, take advantage of Mary right in her own room while we were home and he threw him out."

So his parents had slept together, okay, maybe it wasn't the most tactful thing to do, but it wasn't the end of the world, either. "So he was angry, but why didn't he just get over it?"

"Oh, honey, you don't know your grandfather very well yet. No, no—he's a wonderful man, but sometimes he holds a grudge when he thinks he's been wronged and…"

Pat spoke up as well. "Dad is stubborn, Dick. Maybe if the two of them had apologized or something—but they didn't, not really. They just said they loved each other and wanted to be together."

"But she was his daughter and you said they were so close."

Carolyn took it up again. "Oh honey, they were, but when John left, Mary went with him, you see. Philip went to the circus and found them there and asked her to come home. I know he said everything he should have—and meant it. He told her how much we loved her and just wanted the best for her and all of that, that if they wanted to be together then surely John would understand that she was too young to get married, that she was about to start college and it was important. If he loved her as much as he said then he'd wait for her—all the things you'd say to a child who does something like that."

She had paused, hesitating. Dick prompted her. "But…"

"But by the time he caught up with them they were already married. Philip said they could get it annulled but, of course, they refused."

"Was it a shotgun wedding?" Dick knew his mother was young when he was born—if she'd had to get married that might help explain why his grandfather was so...

"Oh, no, nothing like that. You weren't born for almost two years yet. Philip was just so angry and betrayed right then. He said that if she insisted on marrying John they could have come and talked about it with us. They didn't have to run off like that and get married in secret like they were hiding out."

"But he threw Dad out, so…"

"Well, yes, he did, but he would have calmed down in a few weeks. I know him and so did your mother. He was angry, but he loved her so much that he would have accepted it sooner or later if they had just waited a little."

But…Dick asked his grandmother, "Where were you during all this? What did you do?"

"I contacted Mary through the circus—Philip didn't know. I'd call her when he was at work so he wouldn't be upset and I knew how happy she was with John. They loved each other so much, honey. I'd meet her sometimes if the show was somewhere close by and she was just so—she was so happy. They both were. And then when you were born I asked her to go see her Dad. He'd calmed down quite a lot by then and I knew he missed her desperately."

"And did she?"

"She went up to his office with you in your carriage and the visit started out well enough until he asked if she would consider coming home to raise you—Philip didn't want you raised in a traveling show…"

Dick shook his head. "But I loved it there, we all did."

"I know, honey, I understand, but your grandfather thought that it wasn't the best place for either of you."

He was looking over at her. These people had no idea what their lives had been like in the circus—the family, the friends, the feeling of belonging and safety he'd almost never felt since.

"Your mother thought it was another attempt to break up her and John and they exchanged harsh words. That was the last time she saw him. I stayed in touch with Mary, but it was strained after that and when we learned about the accident—I thought Philip would lose his mind. He blamed himself completely for what happened."

"If he blamed himself, wouldn't he want to make some kind of amends by taking me in?"

"I wanted to, but he was so close to…" She stopped for a moment. "You just look so much like Mary he couldn't bear it right then… I know that's a poor excuse." She stopped again for a second or two. "It was so wrong, I know that and then when we learned you'd ended up in a good home I…"

"Let it ride." Dick's voice was bitter.

"I'm ashamed of that, Dick. I'm ashamed to think of how both Mary and John would feel about the way we behaved but now all we do want to make things right…If you'll let us."

* * *

Around eight the next morning the phone at the Manor rang. "Sir, I'm sorry to interrupt your breakfast, but there's a call from Master Dick."

"Dick, how are you making out? Are you having a good time?"

"It's pretty good. The cousins are great and everyone is really nice."

Bruce could hear some strain in his voice. "No problems?"

"We were talking about my parents last night, that's all; I learned a lot I didn't know before. I'm okay—we're about to go do some runs but I wanted to check in; is everything good there?"

"Fine, quiet. I 'went out' last night, but you didn't miss much."

"Uh, good. I think that my aunt and uncle can bring me home tomorrow, so could you tell Tom he doesn't have to bother? And I was wondering if it would be alright if my cousins came over next weekend?"

"Of course. I'll see you tomorrow, then."

"Right. I've gotta go, bye."

Bruce hung up the phone as Alfred hovered around while pretending to be busy with the coffee pot. "He seems to be having a good time."

"Well, sir, I'm sure that was their hope."

"I'm sure." The question was, what else did they hope?

TBC

10


	4. Chapter Four

Title: Man on the Bench-part four

Author: Simon

Characters: Dick Grayson and Manor crew, plus OC

Rating: PG-13

Summary: a cousin comes to visit and a shoe is thrown but doesn't drop yet.

Warnings: none

Disclaimers: These guys aren't mine, they don't belong to me, worst luck, so don't bother me.

Archive: Fine, but if you want it, please ask first.

Feedback: Hell, yes.

Thanks, Lisa.

**The Man on the Bench**

Part Four 

Late Monday afternoon the Simpson's SUV pulled up to the front door of the Manor to deliver Dick home. His aunt and uncle were trying for cool but impressed, as people usually were the first few times they walked into the place. Dick and the boys pulled his gear from the roof and Alfred offered refreshments while the boys went exploring. By the time they'd seen the indoor pool, set in the middle of a large plant and tree filled conservatory they were thinking that next weekend wouldn't be too hard to take.

When the kids made their was back to the informal living room (as opposed to the formal living room or the ball room), their parents were chatting with Bruce Wayne, making what sounded like small talk.

"Heavens no, he wasn't a problem at all. I wish our kids had his manners, if you want to know the truth."

"Alfred will be happy to hear that."

"Alfred?"

"He raised both of us, really. This place wouldn't be standing without him."

Pat started doing most of the talking, James just making the odd comment and looking around the room. "Well, we'd love it if Dick could come visit us at the house—no, we really would. All the boys got along so well, I know they'd all have just a great time and I'm sure they want to show him off to their friends if they get the chance."

James inspection of the room's contents done, he seemed to find his voice. "Mr. Wayne? I don't know if anyone has said anything, but the whole family is more grateful than we can say for what you've done for the boy—after everything he's been through he seems happy and remarkably well adjusted. You deserve all the credit for that."

Bruce disliked idle flattery, especially when it was being used as a build up to a dropped shoe.

James went on. "But we've all been talking, we've given it a lot of thought and we think it would be better if he was with his family now—I certainly don't mean to be presumptuous, but, well, he has a family who wants him and it's in his best interest."

The unmitigated gall of the man. "How so?"

"Excuse me?" James missed Bruce's point.

"How would removing him from a home where's he's happy and thriving be in his best interest?" Bruce's look was deceptively mild. "Your father in law made a similar comment last week and I fail to see why either of you would think I'd agree to this. Furthermore, if you were to ask Dick, I'm sure he'd have the same response."

"But, sir, surely you'd agree that a child is better off in a family with both parents present—and we're his blood relations, all we have at heart are his best interests."

For the love of God; they're going through this again. "I'll give you the same answer I gave to Mr. Lloyd; Dick has both a home and a family right here and that's not going to change in the foreseeable future. I've no objection to him having contact with you or your sons if that's what he wants, but this is his home and I'm his legal guardian. I'll take this as far as I have to ensure the status quo—am I making myself clear?"

Whatever James and Pat may have thought about Wayne's dilettante image they'd gathered from People magazine or Page Six was put paid to by sitting in the man's home and watching him at close range. He wouldn't be bullied and he would use everything at his considerable disposal to keep the boy he obviously now thought of as his son.

Pat broke the awkward silence. "I think you misunderstand us, Mr. Wayne. Honestly, we'd never do anything to harm Dick; I loved my sister very much and he's her only child, the only thing I really have left of her."

"…Dick isn't a 'thing', Mrs. Simpson, he's an adolescent child who's been through more upheaval and heart break than anyone should have to experience and I'll not allow you, or anyone, to add to that. Now, it's getting late and I'm sure you need to be getting your sons home." He pressed an intercom on his desk. "Alfred? Would you please let the boys know their parents are looking for them?"

* * *

"Sam? Do you have that brief drafted? I'd like to look it over this evening."

"I'll have it on your desk by four-thirty, Mr. Lloyd."

"Good—how does it look to you?"

"The truth? If I was a betting man I'd have to put my money on the other guy, sir."

Philip Lloyd knew that. He didn't care. "Well, maybe this will settle out of court. 'Lot less messy that way."

* * *

On Wednesday of the following week Dick was doing his homework before getting ready to let Robin fly when his phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Dick? It's Peter. I was wondering if we're still on for this weekend? Is everything cool with Bruce?"

"He said it's no problem—how are you guys getting here?"

"My parents are going to drive me down—but there's a sort of change. My brothers are busy with some scouting thing, but if it's alright, I'd still like to come.

"Yeah, sure. That would be great."

"I was hoping you'd say that. We should be there around dinnertime Friday. Is that okay?"

"It's fine—I'll see you then."

"Hey, Dick? What happened between my parents and Bruce? They were sorta weird in the car and I think they might have had some kind of argument."

"Bruce didn't say anything to me; he just asked if I'd had a good time snowboarding."

"Yeah, well, something happened."

"I don't know; sometimes if Bruce doesn't know you well he can come across a little cold, I guess. It was probably just something like that. Later."

"Yeah, maybe. Later."

God, what did Bruce do now?

After patrol, around two the next morning, Dick stopped halfway up the stairs from the cave to the house. "Hey, Bruce?"

He looked up from where he was booting the computers. "Yes?"

"I just wanted to remind you that one of my cousins is going to be here Friday for the weekend."

"So you're not going out as Robin, I take it?"

"I don't see how I can without Peter wondering where I am."

"...Fine."

"Are you sure? You were talking about Joker being out again—I could ask him to come another time if you need me."

Of course he could use Dick, but if he asked the boy to change his plans Alfred would hand him his head on a silver platter—antique and engraved. "I'll be alright on my own for two nights, Dick, don't worry about anything. Now get to bed, it's a school night."

"'K. 'Night, Bruce."

* * *

"Bruce? Do you have a minute?"

"Oh, I suppose I do. You were wondering where to get a tie that would really coordinate with that suit, weren't you? I know your wife would appreciate if you took a greater interest in…"

"Bruce, I'd like to go over a letter I just got from a law firm."

"A letter? Why would a lawyer be writing you, Lucius? Are you in some trouble?"

Lucius sighed inwardly. He knew Bruce wasn't stupid; it was just so difficult to get him to focus sometimes. "A lawyer from Lloyd and Penn in New York seems to be saying that there may be a challenge lodged against your guardianship of Dick. Do you know anything about this?"

That son of a bitch. "Good gracious, we can't have that. Do they say why they'd want to do such a thing?"

"According to this, one of the firm's senior partners is Dick's maternal grandfather and he'd like custody to be granted to either him and his wife or his married daughter. However, he indicates that he'd be willing to meet with you to avoid any unpleasantness."

"By all means, we should avoid that, yes." Bruce was seething. Even knowing this could be coming didn't make him any less angry. So—meet with the old bastard and see what his real game was. Then crush him. "I think we should set up a meeting, don't you?"

"I'll call this afternoon and let you know what they say." He was at the door when he turned back, just to make sure. "Bruce—you do realize that they may be trying some kind of a shakedown or blackmail attempt."

No kidding. "Oh, good Lord. You don't think that could be what this is all about, do you?"

An hour later Lucius knocked and walked back into Bruce's office. "That threat I told you about—that letter? We have a meeting set up for tomorrow morning, here, just you, me, a couple of your best lawyers and them. Ten o'clock."

A meeting on a Saturday morning so that as few people as possible would know about it—and while Dick and his cousin were probably either home in the pool or out on the quads tearing up the trails.

Christ.

* * *

Peter was dropped off a few minutes before five that afternoon, Pat thanking Alfred but declining any offers of rest or a cup of tea. She insisted that she really needed to get back home since she and James had a business party they couldn't possibly miss and she'd be back Sunday afternoon to get her son. If there were any problems at all, they had her number and please make sure that Peter took his allergy medicine or he'd start sneezing.

Dick showed Peter up to the guest room closest to his suite, apologizing that unless he wanted to share a bed, this was all they had.

"This is it? Dick, dude…this is like twice the size of my room at home. You think we can use that pool we saw?"

"Yeah, sure, after dinner we can do whatever you want."

Knowing that the Master would be later than his normal time, Alfred had decided to go with an easy dinner; a simple London broil and fries. The boys inhaled them in about ten minutes, along with the cake he'd made for dessert. Less than ten minutes after the last dish was cleared Peter was in the pool, Dick not far behind.

Hearing the shouts and shrieks of laughter mixed with loud splashing, Alfred made his way over to look through the glass doors to the conservatory/pool area and watched the expressions on Dick's face as he tried to show the other boy how to do a front flip into the water; happy, laughing, relaxed in a way he rarely was with the adults in the house.

This was what he needed to round out his already full life—having kids around who weren't concerned about saving the world or spending hours training; kids whose main problems revolved around math tests and whether or not the girl in the next row liked them or not.

Despite his happy, optimistic outlook on life, Master Dick always had things of such…gravity on his mind.

Even his closest friends, the Titans were usually more worried about some intergalactic threat than an English essay.

The young master needed more time to be—goodness, what was the word he was looking for? Ah, of course. He needed a way to be more carefree when he had so many cares. Perhaps the cousins were just what the doctor ordered. It was a shame that Master Bruce was caught late at the office this evening, he really should see this, he'd enjoy it so. Dick's joy had become his ever since the lad had joined them and to see him like this—shouting, laughing, splashing, the two boys chasing one another with those big water guns—he would love to see this.

After hours in the pool and Jacuzzi, the two youngsters asked for and received a large bowl of popcorn and sodas. They then spent the next several hours playing some game of mayhem and destruction on the computer followed by some horrible film that seemed, to Alfred, to consist of no plot and many loud explosions while young Master Peter complimented both Alfred and Dick on the quality of the surround sound and the ninety-six inch screen.

"God, Dick—the hell with you moving in with us—I'm moving in here!"

"Young sirs, if I may suggest; it is now after midnight and as I would presume that you have plans for the morning, you may wish to move your entertainment to the upper regions."

Peter looked blank.

"He wants us to go to bed." Dick knew twelve was early for him—and Alf knew it, too but they had to keep up the pretense and Peter was starting to slow down. It was okay—they could watch the next movie upstairs as well as they could watch it here. Within another hour they were asleep, Friday the Thirteenth still playing when Alfred went to check. Quietly he covered the boys with blankets where they lay on the floor, turning off the lights and TV as he left.

Down in the cave Bruce was staring at the documents in front of him; they were the papers awarding legal guardianship of Richard John Grayson to Bruce Thomas Wayne. The best family law attorney's he could find had drawn them up. They were iron clad when they were filed and there was no reason to think otherwise now. His lawyers had spent the afternoon going over them with the finest toothcombs they had. They were airtight. There were no hints of any impropriety beyond baseless gossip.

Lloyd's people had nothing. They were sure of it.

Philip Lloyd was bluffing. He wanted something; probably money and they'd sit down to talk in the morning.

TBC

1/21/05

7


	5. Chapter Five

Title: Man on the Bench-part four

Author: Simon

Characters: Dick Grayson and Manor crew, plus OC

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Bruce meets with the Grandfather, Dick talks with his cousin.

Warnings: none

Disclaimers: These guys aren't mine, they don't belong to me, worst luck, so don't bother me.

Archive: Fine, but if you want it, please ask first.

Feedback: Hell, yes.

Thank you, Syl. You are a speed wonder.

And just by the way? I know a lot of people call them ATV's (All Terrain Vehicles) but we've always called them quads in my neck of the woods, so that's what Dick calls them here.

**The Man on the Bench**

Part Five 

Lucius Fox opened without preamble. "You asked for this meeting, Mr. Lloyd. Shall we not waste time? What is it you want?"

"It's very simple; I want my grandson."

They were sitting in the large conference room on the fifty-eighth floor of Wayne Corp Headquarters. Bruce was there with Lucius and the four top lawyers from his legal department along with the lawyer and the assistant who had written the original guardianship papers. Philip Lloyd was there with his partner, both with an assistant and secretary in tow. The huge room dwarfed the fourteen people who needed just one end of the enormous table.

"Your opportunity to gain guardianship of Richard passed five years ago when permanent custody was granted to Mr. Wayne. There were ample chances to file and you didn't. Neither have you, until last week, made any attempt to contact your grandson nor in any way or inquire about his well being, despite your living less than two hours away from Mr. Wayne."

"I'm deeply ashamed about my conduct towards the boy and wish to make up for it now—you know how it is when you're getting older; you just don't want to waste any more time."

Lucius somehow managed to keep a straight face, probably because he was as outraged as Bruce that this was happening. "Your daughter and her husband left no instructions in their wills as to whom they wished to raise their son should something happen to them—a regrettable oversight on their part. Because of this and in the absence of any immediate family members being willing to give Richard a home he was awarded to Mr. Wayne."

Philip looked a little abashed at that. "I know that and I'm surprised at Mary's lapse—she was my daughter, after all; she knew the basics of the law about protecting her son—even if John Grayson didn't."

"I'd hardly blame your daughter for our being here this morning, Mr. Lloyd. My question is why didn't you take your grandson in when—forgive me— his parents were killed? You were notified within twelve hours after the accident, weren't you? You must have been informed that Richard was uninjured, well, at least physically—didn't it occur to you that he needed a place to stay; that having his family around him would be helpful to him at a time like that?"

The Wayne people seemed less than sympathetic to Philip Lloyd. Lloyd's people seemed uncomfortable with the facts.

"I've told you that I'm ashamed, deeply ashamed of my actions five years ago, and all I can say is that I'd just lost my daughter and was in shock—surely any of you who have children would be devastated by a loss like the one my wife and I suffered. I was—wrong and now I want to make it right."

Bruce spoke up for the first time, showing a side of himself he rarely allowed outsiders to see, but since he and Philip had taken good measure of one another that evening in the Manor, he had little to lose—besides Dick, of course. "Mr. Lloyd, not only did you not make any attempt to contact or help Richard, in the intervening five years you never once got in direct touch with him nor did your wife or your surviving daughter. You never sent him so much as a birthday card—though I understand Dick's aunt at least did that much for him, minimal though it was. I'm sure you can understand why I find myself dubious about your sudden change of heart."

"I've explained my feelings to you, Mr. Wayne and I'm more than willing to allow you ample chances to visit with Dick—I recognize what you've done for him and the last thing I'd want is to upset him further."

The Wayne people were hard pressed to hide their reactions to the last statement and a few quiet snots of derision were just barely covered by hands to mouths.

Bruce signaled Lucius to end this; enough of this ridiculous game.

"Mr. Lloyd, everyone in this room knows that unless you have compelling evidence showing that Mr. Wayne is in some way delinquent or detrimental towards Richard or his welfare you'll never get the custody decision overturned. With all respect, you're wasting our time…do you have anything of substance for us to look at this morning?"

There was some shuffling of papers and looks back and forth. No one said anything since Lloyd's people had been told the boss would handle everything himself, that he had it wrapped up and that it would just be a case of presenting what they had and watching Wayne cave. The others had merely been brought along as window dressing to ensure the numbers were reasonably even between the two sides.

Evidently and surprisingly, Philip had underestimated his opponent. Whatever his reputation may be, Wayne and his staff were better prepared and stood on solid legal ground as far as the boy went.

Lucius made a move to stand up, the others following, Philip Lloyd and his people angry at being dismissed so quickly and out of hand

"Wayne? You'll be hearing from me."

A couple of minutes later Bruce and Lucius were in Bruce's office, the others thanked and released for the day. "So what is he going to call you about?"

Bruce knew the answer as well as Lucius did. "What he really wants."

* * *

When Bruce got back to the Manor he could hear the whining roar of the quads coming across the lawn at full speed, skidding to a stop too close to his car, both boys laughing at having 'gotten' him.

"You two being careful on those things?"

"Yeah Bruce, really careful." Dick was smiling, laughing. Peter was almost doubled over at the thought. At least they were wearing helmets.

"Try not to kill yourselves before lunch?"

Around three that afternoon, Bruce got the call he was expecting.

"_**Mr. Wayne? Philip Lloyd here. Do you have a few minutes?"**_

Mentally shaking his head at the game, Bruce answered**_. "Of course, Mr. Lloyd. What is it you want to discuss? Have you rethought your plans to challenge me for custody?"_**

"_**Well, the boy is my grandson, and that's a fact but maybe we can work something out to avoid any unpleasantness. That sound good to you?"**_

"_**I thought that after this morning you would drop whatever you seem to have in mind—as far as I could tell, you don't have a leg to stand on."**_

"_**Well, I'll let you decide that for yourself, Bruce, after you hear what I have to say."**_

"_**Depending on what you're proposing."**_

"_Now let's cut through the bull, shall we? You and I both know that you have a pretty good set of papers in hand and that for me to file a formal inquiry of some kind would open up a can of worms neither of us really wants—sound about right so far?"_

And two and two equal four, as well. **_"Yes, that sounds about right."_**

"_**And the last thing either of us wants is for Dick to be upset about this, we in agreement so far, Wayne?"**_

"_**Please go on, Mr. Lloyd."**_

"_**I think I might be willing to forget about this whole thing if we can come to an agreement."**_

"**_And what sort of agreement were you thinking about, Mr. Lloyd?" _**Used as Bruce was to playing the negotiations game, this was becoming tiresome.

"_Now, the truth is that I'd like to avoid any nastiness; it would bring up all that unpleasantness about Mary and myself being estranged and there may even be some questions about what kind of life he was living in a traveling show, questions about the sort of people who frequent a life style like that. Now I wouldn't want the boy to have to see something like that played out in the papers and the tabloids—I'm sure you feel the same way, am I right, Bruce?"_

"_**The simple answer is for you to not file an unwinnable suit, Mr. Lloyd."**_

"_**But I can't really do that, you see. We've all heard the questions about a wealthy, single man; a 'life-long bachelor', as it were, taking in an attractive young boy, haven't we? And there you are in that big house with just a male live-in servant as regular help. As my old grandfather used to say, 'that dog don't hunt', does it?"**_

That chestnut again. For God's sake, at least come up with something original. **_"What are you suggesting?"_**

"_**I'd be willing to drop this whole thing if we could come to an understanding."**_

"_**I'm sure I don't know what you're suggesting, Mr. Lloyd."**_

"_**I would be willing to drop this action."**_

Christ, make a point. **_"Yes?"_**

"_**Wayne Corp is a large company with world-wide interests. You must have any number of contracts and legal issues pending at any one time."**_

"**_And?" _**For God's sake. How much money do you want to go away?

"_My law firm is seriously considering a large expansion but I'm encountering some resistance. If I could tell my partners and associates that we had the legal work of your company—and your personal legal needs as well, of course—in our corner it would make it much easier for my people to swallow."_

In the last six months Lloyd and Penn had lost its four largest accounts amid charges of mismanagement and overcharging, none of which had been proven but which had still cut the firm's billing by almost forty percent. They were hurting.

"_I'm sure you're aware that I have a legal department which is more than adequate for my needs."_

Lloyd paused for just a shade too long**_… "You're choice, Bruce. Look, you think it over for a couple pf days, get back to me. I'll look forward to talking again on, say, Monday. Enjoy the rest of the weekend."_**

So this was the real point of the stupid maneuvering? Lloyd was trying to use Dick as a bargaining chip to keep his damn company afloat? Play ball, hire his law firm and all the runaround and false charges with all the attendant paparazzi nonsense would become a non-issue?

Not that Bruce was completely surprised, of course. He'd known from the first day he'd heard the man made contact with Dick that his law firm was facing closure; the timing wasn't coincidental. It wasn't even subtle but, somehow, despite knowing the facts, Bruce had hoped against hope and the evidence that Dick might have really found a relative who wanted to just love him and make him part of the whole family.

Shakespeare was right. 'First, let's kill all the lawyers'.

And make sure that Dick didn't find out.

Bruce could hear the quads still racing around the house, tearing up the manicured lawn and no doubt, and making life hell for the gardeners. Normally he or Alfred would go out and make them stop, but today he didn't care.

It was just grass, they were kids and they were having fun. The lawn could be repaired and…

What the hell.

Roaring out of the garage five minutes later on the third quad, he met up with the boys at the bottom of the big hill. "Have you tried the woods trail yet? No? Eat my dust, children!"

He caught a glimpse of the astonished smile on Dick's face as he shifted gears.

* * *

"God, Dick you are so totally lucky, Dude. You have just so landed in it—you live in this place, you have pools and horses and quads and whatever you want just by like ringing a bell and Bruce is so not like I thought he'd be."

They were back by the indoor pool, opting for a soak in the connecting Jacuzzi instead of the hot showers Alfred had recommended after spending most of the day outside going over hill and dale, as he'd put it, making themselves wet, dirty, muddy and chilled clear through to their bones.

"What did you think he'd be like?" This wouldn't be the first time someone had the wrong impression of Bruce—and there were so many ways of getting it wrong when you came down to it. Airhead, money tree, arrogant jerk, cold bastard…take your pick, but then he'd go and do something like he had this afternoon; spend hours racing them through the woods and across the lawns then up the two mile long driveway and back again—and again. Then he'd promised that as soon as they were clean and managed to get themselves warmed up he'd either take them out or let them order in whatever they wanted for dinner; and yes, pizza was a possibility.

"I thought he'd be, you know, sort of, I don't know. I guess I thought he'd be too busy to hang out with us and what I've heard about him sounds like he's not really a kid person." He caught Dick's look. "C'mon, you know what I mean—he's always in the magazines with all these different women and stuff. It's like that's all he does, practically." Peter took a long drink from the water bottles they'd put on the rim. "And he's a lot smarter than I thought he'd be, too. He's got this reputation as a—well, you know, as not all that smart."

"You mean most people think he's an idiot."

"Right, what you said."

Dick smiled at that. Yes, he knew. "He's not what a lot of people think he is. You get used to it pretty fast if you hang around him. In fact, sometimes he's pretty okay." And if Peter knew even half of the whole story he'd freak. "So you want pizza or Chinese for dinner?"

"Why don't you and Bruce get pizza and I'll order a calzone—sound like a plan?"

"Works for me."

"So, what's it like around here the rest of the time?"

Dick looked at his cousin, not understanding. "What do you mean?"

"When no one's here, when you're just hanging out. What's it like, what do you do?"

What an odd question. "I don't know—it's like anyplace, I guess. I read, I work out, do homework." He half shrugged. "You know, normal stuff, nothing special." Track down Joker and Catwoman, lead the Titans, sometimes go off-world, hang out with the Justice League—just the same old.

"Yeah?"

"Well, yeah—it's just a house, y'know." Well, all right. "Okay, it's a big house, but it's just, it's just a big house." Did that sound really lame? Probably, but it was true. Sure, it had a lot of rooms and all the stuff like the pools and the quads and all the expensive toys, but it was just a house when you came down to it with a kitchen and bedrooms and bathrooms and all the usual stuff.

"Was it hard to get used to? I mean after your parents—you know, after you had to move?"

Dick nodded. "We, my parents and I, used to live in this trailer and it was really small. I think the bathroom off my room is bigger. We used to eat with the other circus people in a tent—or outside if it was nice and I only owned like two pairs of jeans and a couple of tee shirts—and a sweatshirt in case it got cold." Peter looked like he was going to say he was sorry or something.

No, that wasn't what he meant. He didn't want Peter to feel sorry for him.

"It was all right—I really loved it there. It was like living in a small village where you knew everyone and everyone knew you and looked after you and made sure you were all right all the time. Sometimes the townies would decide to do something stupid and the older kids or the roustabouts would look after the younger kids, make sure we were okay."

"What about school? Did you have teachers or something traveling with you?"

"Most of us were home schooled when we were on the road but when we got to the winter camp—that was down in Florida, we'd go to regular school for a few months. We did fine." Dick had, anyway. When he'd started at St. James, after the accident, he'd been up to speed in every subject and ahead in a couple. The hardest part was learning how to sit still from nine to three. That took years to get used to and he still felt antsy a lot of the time.

"You know my parents were serious about you living with us. I mean they're not going to make you or anything, but I heard them talking about how they could put an addition out the back to add space and build you a room. You don't guess you'd want to do something like that, do you?"

Jesus, Dick had a feeling something was going on but this wasn't going to happen. No way in hell. "I like it here. I don't mean to sound ungrateful or anything, but I'm happy right where I am."

"That's about what I told them." Peter knew this was thin ice; they'd sort of talked about it before. "Hey, either way, we're still cousins, right? We'll come visit you here in your palace and you can come slumming at our house—okay? The parents will get over it."

He didn't need this, he really didn't. It had taken him years, but he'd finally begun to feel like this was home—not like with his parents, but as much home as he knew he'd ever get. "Anyway—so what do you want to do tonight?"

"What haven't we done around here yet?"

"There's more to do when it's warm, but maybe we could talk Bruce into a movie."

"Sounds good to me. Calzone, pizza and a flick—it's a plan."

* * *

"Master Bruce, the young gentlemen are wondering when you'd be ready to join them for an Italian dinner at Roma's to be followed by a film in town. What may I tell them?"

He was on the computer again, still. "Tell them to find out what time the film starts, let me know and we'll go about ninety minutes before hand—and could you make a reservation at the restaurant for us?"

Left alone, Bruce studied the screen in front of him. Page after page of information was coming in from Barbara and he'd have to make a point of sending her something really nice to thank her for this one.

It seemed that there was more to Philip Lloyd than he'd first thought. Sure he was a big time lawyer who had some money problems; that was the easy stuff to find out and fairly mundane.

This new material was where it became interesting—and would be the edge he needed.

TBC

1/23/05

9


	6. Chapter Six

Title: Man on the Bench-part six

Author: Simon

Characters: Dick Grayson and Manor crew, plus OC

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Bruce has further talks with grandpa; Dick makes a decision—maybe.

Warnings: none

Disclaimers: These guys aren't mine, they don't belong to me, worst luck, so don't bother me.

Archive: Fine, but if you want it, please ask first.

Feedback: Hell, yes.

**The Man on the Bench**

Part Six 

The rest of Peter's weekend visit went fine with no problems at all. He was a nice kid with reasonable manners and no trouble. He and Dick got along well and seemed to grow closer as the couple of days passed. They were almost the same age and likely might have been friends even if they didn't have the newly discovered family tie to bring them together.

Alfred was happy to see Dick having such a good time with this new friend—the poor boy had so few people he could talk with, especially ones who were his age because of the special requirements and restrictions of his life. There were the Titans, of course, but they seemed more like co-workers than friends a good part of the time and the other young people seemed unable to forget the young master was their leader, even if they were merely splashing about in one of the pools or having a snowball fight on one of the lawns.

This young man, this cousin, had none of that baggage to sort through and though there were areas of the household that couldn't be discussed, there was still much they could connect about: School, family, parental problems and all the usual things young people liked to discuss among themselves.

Watching them out on the quads while waiting for Peter's mother to fetch him home made Alfred smile.

* * *

Sunday night, while Dick was in his room finishing up his homework, Bruce was going through some of his old files. With any luck, they would give him the missing part of the puzzle he needed to determine why Dick's grandfather was playing the game he was. 

Barbara had provided the connection, pulling up some link in her vast array of files and programs combined with her photographic memory. She was the one who set him on the right path to find out who Lloyd was and how he earned his living. In fact, it occurred to Bruce that she might actually be of more use to them if she concentrated on that end of things instead of staying with her Batgirl activities, not that he was about to suggest it to her, thanks.

Finally, in the fifteenth newspaper account involving the trial, that had finally sent Anthony Zucco to prison for life, was the picture he was looking for.

The reproduction was old, black and white and grainy, but the man standing supportively next to his client, Zucco's lawyer was unmistakably Philip Lloyd

Philip Lloyd, Dick's loving grandfather, was the man who'd tried to get the Grayson's murderer off. Philip Lloyd had put every ounce of his legal ability into freeing the man who had orchestrated the deaths of his daughter and son-in-law and only by dumb luck hadn't killed his grandson, as well.

And now the son of a bitch was nosing around, trying to shake down Wayne Corp and Bruce? He insisted that he wanted to gain custody of Dick; move him back in with his 'blood' family out of concern about the boy's upbringing? Right, sure he did.

How could this have gotten past him? How could he not have known who the man was? How could he have missed this for almost two weeks?

Bruce looked at the picture more closely, ran it through the computer, cleaned up the image. The man looked completely different, for one thing—the newspaper clipping was four years old and Philip seemed to have aged at least twenty years or more in that time.

He put side-by-side images of Lloyd on the screen, the old photo next to a recent one.

His hair, which in the newspaper picture appeared to be black was now white. In the old picture he was heavy-set—at least fifty pounds overweight, jowly, soft and out of shape looking and appearing to be maybe forty-five or fifty years old. The man Bruce knew as Dick's grandfather was trim, fit and a vigorous looking sixty-five or so.

There was more, the closer he looked.

Lloyd'd had a nose job and work done to his eyes. His jaw line was different, more defined and he looked like he'd had implants in his cheeks and chin. His hairline was different. The cosmetic work was extensive but was done by an expert. It was undetectable to the naked eye. It was also possible that he was now wearing colored contacts.

Most people would never have thought they were the same man, but Bruce saw it.

If Philip walked into a restaurant or party, the odds were that no one who'd known him five or ten years ago would have any idea he was the same man. Now that Bruce knew what he was looking for it was almost obvious and he wondered if Lloyd's wife had also undergone a change—she almost would have had to, come to think of it. Otherwise what would be the point of him reinventing himself? Bruce became curious and, after a search, found an old picture of the two of them at some charity dinner.

The caption read "Philip and Carolyn Lloyd" but to anyone who knew them now, they were strangers. Yes, the wife had also undergone a complete sea change.

But why?

Was he still working for the mob? Six months after the trial ended, after the last appeal was exhausted, Philip Lloyd had quietly left his job at Jolson and Locke in Gotham to found his own firm in New York City. From all reports, the old company was now legit. So was Lloyd and Penn now the mob law firm or, by some chance, had Philip decided to go clean and start with a new name to make a complete break?

But why blackmail Bruce? Just for money? To gain some kind of control of Wayne Corp?

Was that why he'd contacted Bruce through Dick? Was that the real reason he'd made such a big play for the boy's emotions and loyalty—so that he'd have some kind of leverage over Dick's guardian? Was the next step to somehow lodge or insinuate some kind of threat against Dick if Bruce didn't play along or decided to cause trouble?

The first thing Bruce had to find out was whether the threat was against him personally or against the company—or against Dick.

All right, time to do some more work.

* * *

Monday afternoon the call Bruce was expecting came in. 

"Mr. Wayne? Philip Lloyd is on line seven. Would you like to take the call?"

"Yes, please, put him through if you would, Catherine."

"_**Wayne? Have you thought about what we were discussing the other day?"**_

"_**You mean your request for me to fire my legal department and hire your firm in its place? Yes, I've thought about it and I think I'd rather not, if it's all the same to you."**_

"…_**I'm sorry to hear that, Mr. Wayne."**_

"_**I'm sure you can understand my reasoning, Mr. Lloyd. After all, loyalty is important in the work place and I couldn't, in all good conscience, let go people who've been working for me all these years."**_

"**_Of course I understand, but let me make another suggestion if I may. How would you_** **_feel about my little firm taking care of just the financial end of things; the taxes and all of that? We're specialists, you know—we could save you a bundle of money if you'd let us."_**

"_**That's a generous offer, but I have tax people on my payroll as well, thanks."**_

"_**Of course you do, but it may be to your advantage for you to bring some of my people aboard as well."**_

"_**And why is that?" **_

"_**It's just that with more people working on a project, there's less chance of something going wrong. That's all, Mr. Wayne."**_

"**_Are you suggesting my company may have problems with taxes in the future, Mr. Lloyd? Why on earth would you think that?" _**This was a veiled threat, the bastard.

"_**Good lord, no—I'm sure you have the best working for you, Mr. Wayne, I'm sure you do. But if I may, one thing I've heard about you has me a little confused—if you don't mind my asking, is it true that you do your own personal taxes? A man like you—well, I'd have thought that you'd have an army of accountants to take care of that sort of thing."**_

In fact, Bruce always did his own taxes and had since he was a senior in high school. For years, Alfred had drilled it into him: If the time came when he was too busy to keep track of where his money was going, then one day he'd wake up and wonder where it had gone.

Over time it had become a habit, despite the fact that he had an army of accountants and lawyers to tend to things. It was his money and he wanted to see for himself how it was being taken care of. Over the years he had learned better than to take things for granted

"_**Thank you for your offers and your concern, Mr. Lloyd, but I think we're fine with things the way they are for now. I'll keep you in mind, though if I decide to make a change. Now, I'm sure you're as busy as I am…"**_

"_**One last question, if you don't mind."**_

Games. Bruce hated playing games. **_"One last question, Mr. Lloyd."_**

"_**As his grandfather, may I ask what provisions you've made for Dick's welfare and financial security should anything happen to you?"**_

"…**_Excuse me?" _**He wanted to know what was in his will? Like hell. **_"Dick has been provided for, Mr. Lloyd. Now if you'll excuse me, I've work to do."_**

"_**Of course. Oh, and you do know that Carolyn and I were hoping to take Dick with us back up to Butternut again this weekend, if that's all right with you. You don't have any objections, do you?"**_

This was the first Bruce had heard of it.

"_**When did you ask Dick?"**_

"_**I wanted to make sure you didn't mind first. Pat told me that she was going to call later this evening to clear it. After all, he is family and the boys had such a good time last time we couldn't see any reason not to include him whenever we go up—assuming it's all right with you, that is. I'm sure you wouldn't want to keep him away from his own cousins, now—would you, Bruce?"**_

"_**Dick has mid terms to study for this weekend. Maybe another time."**_

"…_**Well, if he has to work. I'll let Pat know. Maybe he could make it the week after this one, after the tests are over."**_

"_**Yes, maybe."**_

The call ended, the connection was cut. Bruce was furious. The son of a bitch; veiled threats, trying to insinuate himself in between Dick and himself, dangling ski trips and a constant stream of fun and games in front of the boy—making him think that spending time with—hell, just say it—with his real family was more fun, better than living at the Manor.

Not to mention the fact that the old bastard was trying to get his hands on Bruce's personal finances.

It was getting time to do something about this. Enough was enough.

* * *

"But that's stupid, Bruce. The school moved midterms back a week because of the snow days. There's no reason why I can't go with the Simpson's up to Butternut." 

"You know how important those tests are." The two of them were in Bruce's study after dinner, Bruce trying to maintain his calm behind his desk and Dick standing, angrily, over by the fireplace.

"And you know I'm on the honor roll. It's not like I'm about to tank."

"And you haven't been paying as much attention to your training lately. You almost slipped last night coming around that corner."

"Bruce—Christ! There was an oil slick there, of course I almost slipped; the point is that I didn't."

"And you can drop that attitude, old chum, if you have any thoughts of going anywhere at all this weekend."

"Why, because you're jealous of me spending time with my real family? You've been in a rotten mood ever since they contacted me."

Bruce gave him a Bat worthy glare. "I'm not going to have this conversation with you. Get upstairs and make sure your homework's done or you can stay home tonight as well."

"What? You're going to ground me? And once again you won't talk about anything that involves people. Fine—shut down as usual, go back down to your cave, Bruce. That way you won't have to ever to talk to anyone face to face—you'll be in bat heaven."

How Dick could escalate from calm to hysterics in the space of seconds was beyond Bruce and always made him either want to leave the room or give the boy a hug—not that he'd ever do such a thing, of course. Much as he knew Dick could be emotional, Bruce was simply never comfortable with that side of the boy and marked it down to his show business background and hoped it was something he'd outgrow. Soon.

"Ever since this whole thing with your family started you've been preoccupied and unfocused. It's dangerous and you could get hurt and you know that as well as I do. I'm concerned about you and…" Whatever he was about to say was left hanging.

"You're concerned about me? You're concerned about 'Robin', not me. You're just afraid that I'll maybe decide that I'd rather be normal and live in a regular house instead of this museum and go to a normal school instead of that stupid place you insist I go now—you know, all that stuff I've never done before. You're just worried that maybe I'd rather live with my real family instead of here."

In fact that was exactly what Bruce was afraid of but he couldn't, wouldn't tell Dick the real reasons—that his grandfather was somehow implicated in the crime family that ordered his parent's deaths.

"Dick, please. Listen to me…"

The anger seemed to go out of Dick like air from a balloon; as fast as his temper could flare, it would disappear as fast. "Bruce, I'm sorry. I really am sorry for what I said but it may be true. Maybe I do want to live like a normal person: I've been thinking about it for a while now, months, in fact." He paused as if marshalling his thoughts. "I'm grateful for everything you and Alfred have done for me, you know how grateful I am, but lately—even before I knew my grandfather and the rest of them were around, I've been thinking about maybe wanting to just be, you know, just be a regular kid."

"But Dick…"

"I've never done that, been normal, I mean. I grew up in a traveling show, my parents were killed, I came here and then I became Robin. It's all been weird stuff, y'know? I've never done 'normal'."

Bruce leaned back in his chair, watching Dick struggle with this. "Are you saying that you want to move in with your cousins?"

Dick gave a half confused, half helpless shrug. He didn't know, he wasn't sure what he wanted but he knew he didn't want to hurt the two men who'd taken him in and given him a home when he needed one desperately. He certainly didn't want to cut his ties with Bruce or Alfred or any of the others and he'd pretty much have to if he left. It would be next to impossible for him to lead the Titans or work with Barbara or hang around the League. He had to consider all of that. No more flying, no more Robin.

On the other hand, he'd be living with his real family and his cousins would be more like brothers.

"...I don't know, maybe…"

"All right, look. You have a week off after midterms, don't you?" Dick nodded. "Why don't you see if your cousins are off then as well and even if they're not, maybe you could spend the week with them, see how it goes. After that, I guess we'll see where we are. Does that sound reasonable?"

Dick nodded. "It sounds like a good idea if they're okay with it." He started for the door. "Are you angry?"

"I want what's best, you know that. One way or another, we'll see what seems right."

He nodded again. "I'll finish my homework."

An hour or so later Alfred came in with some fresh coffee for Bruce. "You can't tell him the truth and you can't refuse him permission to see his family, no matter what his grandfather did."

"I know that, but he has to make his own decision." Alfred raised an eyebrow. "If it comes to it, I may have to tell him, no matter what the repercussions are—he'll have to know."

"Yes, Master Bruce, he will. What about the grandfather? Is he a problem?"

"I think I can contain him."

TBC

8


	7. Chapter even

Title: Man on the Bench-part seven

Author: Simon

Characters: Dick Grayson and Manor crew, plus OC

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Dick spends more time with the cousins, Philip has a visitor

Warnings: none

Disclaimers: These guys aren't mine, they don't belong to me, worst luck, so don't bother me.

Archive: Fine, but if you want it, please ask first.

Feedback: Hell, yes.

**The Man on the Bench**

Part Seven 

In the end, after the argument with Bruce, Dick did go up to the family ski condo with his aunt and the cousins. Uncle James had to work and the grandparents had something come up, but the rest all went with Dick being allowed to skip the last two periods of school to get there at a reasonable time. Alfred picked him up, drove him to the Simpson's and wished him well.

Pat drove the kids up in the SUV, stopping along the way to get a fast food dinner—a treat for Dick since the just suggestion would be enough to make Alfred go pale.

"You've never had a Whopper? You've been living under a rock?"

"My parents didn't believe in it 'cause we were professional athletes and Alfred, well, I don't think he's ever been to a fast food place in his life."

"I guess Bruce wouldn't really…?"

"Bruce says his body is a temple and he doesn't want to defile it."

"Uh-huh. Whatever. You gonna finish your fries?"

"But he ate pizza last weekend, isn't that junk food?"

"Peter, you didn't notice much about the place we ate, did you? That was whole wheat crust, the tomatoes were organic and sun-dried and that was goat cheese on top."

His cousin looked nauseous. "Do I want to know what was in the calzone?"

"Probably not."

"Hey, Mom? Dick wants to know if he can have Dunkin Donuts and a Velveeta grilled cheese sandwich on Wonder bread tomorrow with a lot of soda."

"And Captain Crunch and Count Chocula for breakfast."

* * *

"Master Bruce? Mr. Fox is on the phone and would like to speak with you if he may." 

"Bruce? I've learned something that has me a bit upset at the moment; do you have a minute?"

Lucius upset? Lucius was never upset. That was why he was in the position he was in. **_"Of course, what's on your mind?"_**

"Did you tell Philip Lloyd that I've been investing Dick's inheritance from his parents?"

What? **_"Of course not, why would I do a thing like that?"_**

Because Bruce was a known airhead? **_"I don't know, but he seems to have found out and he knows it's current worth, as well."_**

Christ. **_"How much is in that account now, Lucius?"_**

"As of this afternoon it was at just under five million dollars and I strongly suspect that Lloyd will do what he can to get his hands on it. You know the plan was to keep it growing until Dick was twenty-one; that's another seven years and it should at least double, maybe even triple, but if it's broken up or disbursed…"

"_**Yes, I see what you're saying. I certainly didn't talk to him about it and Dick isn't aware of it, so how…?"**_

Bruce could hear Lucius sighing in probably frustration on the other end. **_"We may have a corporate spy."_**

Perfect**_. "See what you can about this; there can't be all that many people with access to the files containing personal financial information, especially about Dick. Look through the accounting department, legal, you know what to check and then let me know."_**

"**_I'll call as soon as I know something, Bruce."_** Lucius hung up, reaffirming his suspicion that Bruce wasn't the complete dope most people thought him to be.

At the Manor, Bruce was thinking that, Jesus, this just kept getting better and better and he still wasn't completely sure what it was Lloyd actually wanted. Was he after money, power, control of Wayne Corp or some part of it or did he really want Dick?

If he wanted Dick, and presumably to also gain control of the money that was being held and invested in trust for him, why? Did he genuinely want to make things right with his wronged grandson or did he simply want to stoke his ego or was it just the money? It seemed to keep coming back to that.

And was Philip Lloyd still involved with the Mob or not?

Enough. It was time to stop playing games.

* * *

"Dick, Dude, you have got to show me how you do that." 

"Steve, it's totally easy, you just get up enough speed, hit the ramp and just sort of lean back."

"And then not land on your head or break your legs—that's the part where I'm still not clear on the lyrics."

Dick and the cousins were taking runs down the half pipe with Dick showing off enough to impress the peasants who were standing around. Hell, why not? They knew he was a circus rat and they knew he was a flyer—it wasn't a stretch that he would be able to do flips and stuff on a snowboard. Even some of the girls, older girls in like high school, were watching and applauding and, God it felt good, just like when he was back in the circus. He'd pull some stunt that he could do with his eyes closed and people would cheer—he'd forgotten how much he missed that.

After a few more runs they took the lift again, boarding their way to the restaurant on the hill to warm up and have some lunch. They were sitting on the outside deck with their food when a man they'd noticed earlier down at the half pipe came over to Dick. He was one of those guys with 'ski bum' practically tattooed on his forehead; blond, tan, really white teeth, handsome in a Nordic sort of way and you just knew all the girls were in love with him.

"Hey there, guy, I'm Brad Phelps. You mind if I join you for a couple of minutes?" He put his hot chocolate down and squeezed himself onto the bench. "I was watching you down on the pipe a little while ago, you're pretty good—you have a lot of lessons?"

"Thanks, I'm kind of self taught, mostly."

"Yeah? Where'd you learn to move like that? You a gymnast? Diver? Dancer?"

"Gymnast."

"Yeah, it really shows." The man nodded, sizing him up. "How old are you, if you don't mind."

Dick knew better than to answer questions from strangers. Hell, they all had that drummed into them when they were like three years old and he wasn't Robin for nothing. "Why are you asking?"

"Well, it's like this; I'm the East Coast rep for Burton Boards and I think you might have a place on our team if you'd be interested."

"Dick, dude! You are the luckiest person on the entire planet!"

Dick wasn't as immediately impressed, he knew better. Besides, there was no way in hell this would happen.

Brad saw his face. "I can prove who I am, son. I've got all kinds of ID and the guys down in the ski shop all know me. I can show you anything you want, give you company phone numbers. I'd be happy to meet with your parents—honest; I'm not a perv. I just rep the boards and scout guys for the team. Really, I'm legit and you're a Hellava boarder."

"Thanks, but I'm fourteen years old. I don't think I could just pick up and do that, you know?"

"I hear you. It's Dick, right?" Dick nodded. "Well, maybe you could be on the special team. You see, we have one with the younger guys; it tours during the school breaks and spends summer down in South America doing the season down there. I tell you what, I'll give you my card and if you're interested in finding out more about us, you have your parents give me a call, okay? No pressure."

"Dick, you're a total boner if you don't at least check this out, totally, I'm telling you."

"Shut up, Steve. Look, Mr. Phelps, I'm flattered, but I'm kinda busy and I don't think I'd really be interested. I mean, thank you, but things are kind of weird right now and I don't think this is a good time."

"Hey, fair enough, but if you change your mind—not even now, say next year, you call me, okay? Say, I tell you what, you're around the hill for a while—I mean you're not going home tonight or anything, are you?"

None of the boys answered, but the looks on their faces said they'd be here.

"Okay, when you get to the bottom stop in at the ski shop. I'll be there from five to seven today—bring your parents—and I'd like to set you up with one of our boards so you can see how you like it. Sound good?" He got up, gave Dick's shoulder a squeeze and smiled at the others then left them in peace.

The instant he walked away the cousins exploded.

"God—dude!" "You are like touched by God or something!" "He wants to GIVE you a new Burton board to see if you LIKE it? Jesus!"

* * *

Later that night, around one in the morning, Pat found Dick up alone in front of the dying fire with the family album on his lap. He was staring at the old snapshots of his mother, looking wistful, sad. 

She sat beside him, her arm around his shoulder. "I miss her, too, honey."

Sniffing very slightly, Dick nodded. The two of them remained like that for a long time, slowly going through the album page by page, not saying anything.

Pat knew he was sad, lonely and frightened to death by the changes of the last few weeks and she knew he wasn't sure what to do. How could he? He might act older, but he was still so young. He was such a sweet young man; Mary and John did a good job and, she conceded, so did Bruce Wayne.

Maybe she could cheer him up a little. He simply couldn't go to bed feeling the way he was. "That was quite a compliment you got today—and that new board is beautiful, honey. Maybe you could do that, join their team for the summer. Don't you think that would be exciting?"

He shrugged and shook his head. "I can't go, Bruce has plans for us this summer."

"Well, maybe if you spoke to him he might let you." Her answer was another headshake. "You know what? I'm going to have to ski with you guys tomorrow so you can show off for me, show me all those fancy tricks you can do."

God, Bruce would kill him if he found out that Dick had been hot-dogging and throwing moves that got him noticed; and not just noticed, noticed enough to get offered a sponsorship deal. God, he was dead.

"It wasn't anything special."

At least he was smiling a little. "Prove it to me in the morning, all right?" He nodded. "Now, bed and sleep for both of us."

He turned his face towards her and kissed her cheek. "You're a lot like my Mom."

He got up and disappeared into the dorm bedroom where the other boys were already asleep. Making her way to her own room, Pat thought that was the most heart breaking thing anyone had said to her.

* * *

The same night Dick Grayson was sitting in front of the condo fireplace Philip Lloyd was sitting in front of his own fireplace with a glass of twelve year old scotch. The room lights were out, the only illumination from the fire. 

This was becoming more of a mess then he'd anticipated.

Everything he'd heard about Bruce Wayne had led him to believe the man was a lightweight with a good staff who really ran things for him. Separate the man from his support and he'd be putty to play with. The good staff part was true enough, but Wayne had more on the ball than he'd expected and it was becoming a problem.

He'd thought that they'd go in, make their pitch, make their offer; Wayne would accept it and that would pretty much be that. He hadn't considered that Wayne might have actually developed a genuine paternal affection for the boy or that Dick would not jump at the chance to move in with his real family.

It simply hadn't been part of the equation.

Hell. This was becoming a pain that he wanted resolved, and soon. Time was starting to get short. Then something in the room changed, probably just Carolyn wanting him to come back to bed and get some rest.

The barely audible rustle behind him warned him before he heard the almost inhuman voice.

"I'll be up in a few minutes."

"Not until you tell me why you're suddenly interested in Bruce Wayne's ward."

Philip half froze and half turned at the sound of the low voice, but though startled, he'd played games in and out of court intimidating witnesses for too long to be completely thrown. He could feign and bluff with the best. "I assume you know the boy is my grandson. What more reason do I need?"

"A grandson you ignored for fourteen years."

"A part of my family."

"With enough money to pay your outstanding tax bills."

"That was never an issue."

The laugh wasn't pleasant or long. "But Richard Grayson has no access to the money until he's twenty-one. Were you planning on having yourself named the trustee?"

"My grandson doesn't have any money; my daughter and her husband had nothing and that's what he inherited."

Batman took a step closer, Philip instinctively pulled back further into the chair.

"You paid an intern at Wayne Corp's accounting department to find out the personal worth of not just Bruce Wayne but Richard Grayson as well. You paid ten thousand dollars and you paid it in cash. The intern's name is Madeline Koehler; she's a senior at NYU, majoring in math and business. Her family lives in Scarsdale. Her father is one of your junior associates at Lloyd and Penn and he's in danger of losing his job for incompetence. You received the information in a phone call three days ago."

"Allegations. You have no proof…"

"Back off, leave the Grayson boy alone or I'll be back for more than a talk."

Philip started to respond but Batman was gone, melted into the shadows and through the wall, for all he knew. Looking down, he saw that his hand was shaking; the good scotch trembling in the baccarat glass, firelight reflecting through the gold liquid.

It had seemed like such a good idea, but now…

No.

It was still a good idea. It was the only way left to handle this and the boy would benefit as well. It was a win-win deal. The taxes would be paid off, the fines would be settled, and the houses would be secured along with the cars and Carolyn's jewelry. Lloyd and Penn could stay in business and no one would be fired. With any luck he could even pay Dick back in a couple of years. At the very least, the boy would be taken care of, his schooling paid for. Dick would be surrounded by his real family. He'd get to know his cousins and Pat and James would become second parents to him.

Philip hated being threatened. He hated the feeling of being backed into a corner and knowing that someone knew that you had a weakness. He hated it.

And his instinctual reaction to being threatened was to strike back.

TBC

8


	8. Chapter Eight

Title: Man on the Bench-part eight

Author: Simon

Characters: Dick Grayson and Manor crew, plus OC

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Bruce is in a snit, Grandpa readies his plan

Warnings: none

Disclaimers: These guys aren't mine, they don't belong to me, worst luck, so don't bother me.

Archive: Fine, but if you want it, please ask first.

Feedback: Hell, yes.

Thank you, Syl.

**The Man on the Bench**

Part Eight 

"Is this all you have for me? I could have gotten that myself by reading old copies of People and GQ. Get me something I don't know; you hear me?"

"But Mr. Lloyd, we've been looking—no one will say anything. It's like he's paid off everyone on the East Coast or something. Either that or the bastard's really that clean."

"No one is that clean, you understand me? I want to know everything there is to know about Bruce Wayne up to and including what brand of underwear he prefers. Who's that old man, that servant who's always around: What's his story? How does he treat my grandson? What happens when Wayne is away on a business trip, who looks after the boy? Does Dick have any friends, and who are they? Is Dick taken care of in Wayne's will, is he the actual heir and if not, who is? What about all the women Wayne is seen with? I want to know about them as well; is he serious about any of them or is he just playing around? And I want to know what exactly is between Wayne and the boy. I've heard too many rumors to discount them out of hand, you listening to me?"

"Yes, Mr. Lloyd, it may take a little time, but we'll get it for you."

"See that you do—Tony Zucco still owes me from five years ago, and he won't be happy if this isn't done right."

"Yes, sir. You don't have to worry. It'll be right, I promise."

"…Good, make sure it is."

* * *

"But I wasn't really doing anything, Bruce. I really wasn't."

"Just enough to get noticed by a company rep and offered a sponsorship deal. How many times do I have go over this with you? You know what's at stake here but you still had to go out there and show off."

Bruce was as angry as either Dick or Alfred had seen him, and that was going some.

"I wasn't showing off, I was just having fun—Christ, Bruce, maybe you've heard of the concept?"

Bruce fixed him with the glare. The bat glare. The one that brokered no debate.

"You may go up to your room. You're grounded for the rest of the month, and Robin is taking that time off as well."

"Grounded? For what? For having a good time for once, for not watching every little thing for a change? You can't do that, it's not fair."

"Few things are, now get upstairs. I'm sure you have some homework you can be doing."

"Jesus."

"Two months. You want to go for three?"

"This is complete horse shit. You know, in the real world you would—maybe—might even be proud of the fact that guy thought I was good enough to be offered a deal to travel and board and get paid for it, but we know this isn't the real world, don't we?"

"That's enough. Get yourself upstairs now." Bruce's voice had taken on that tone that could even freeze the Joker, but Dick had heard it too many times to be phased by it.

"Or what?"

Oh, dear, time to intercede. "Master Richard, if I might suggest, perhaps a short cooling off period for all of us might be in order before things are said which would later be regretted. Master Bruce? Perhaps you might wish to finish what you were working on in the cave. Master Richard? I believe you do have some homework to finish, as a matter of fact." No one moved. "Both of you, please. Now."

The two antagonists just stared at one another. It was more than Alfred was willing to bear this afternoon: He actually raised his voice. "I said now, gentlemen."

That did it. Dick shot him a look, turned, then headed out of the room and up the stairs. Bruce, left and headed down leaving Alfred with the distinct impression of two prizefighters going to their separate corners.

Silence reigned, at least for now.

Really, the way those two would go at one another hammer and nail, banging away with neither listening to the other could become most exasperating in too short order. Of course, the master was concerned about the young master exposing their identities to revelation but then, Master Dick was rightly proud of his abilities.

Really, they could simply be so—tiresome on occasion.

The outcome here was as plain as a bump on a log. The master would brood and maintain a glowering silence for a while, perhaps a good while as he was exceedingly vexed and the young master would be equally angry but would excise it in extended sessions in the gym, stopping only when he had exhausted himself.

In a week, perhaps two, the master would relent and they would be back to normal and not a moment too soon for everyone involved.

Unless, of course, Master Dick decided to utilize his new option and stay with his cousins. The master must have thought of that as a possibility; he always thought of everything. He must realize the child had somewhere else to go, not that anyone really believed he ever would.

Of course he wouldn't. This was his home and, blood aside, Master Bruce and (dare he say it?) Alfred were his family as much as the people he'd only just met.

Of course, there was hardly a child born who didn't think life would somehow be better elsewhere. The grass was always greener, after all.

* * *

On Thursday evening Dick and Peter were talking on the phone. It was something Peter's parents encouraged and Bruce hadn't been told about, though he likely knew anyway. It had become a nightly thing lately and both boys were starting to think of the other as their new best friend, especially since Dick hadn't seen any of the Titans in weeks and, now that he was grounded, probably wouldn't be seeing them anytime soon.

"Peter? What are you guys doing this weekend?"

"Hey, Dick. I don't know. I guess we're either going up to the condo or to some basketball game my father has tickets for in Gotham. He and Grandpa are sort of major Golden fans and they think they may make the play offs this year so they're all excited about seeing the game on Saturday. Why?"

"I was just wondering."

"What did Bruce say when he heard about you getting that offer? He must have been pretty impressed, right? Did you show him that board you got? That was an eight hundred dollar board and Brad just gave it to you—that was awesome."

"He was, I don't know, he was sort of mad."

"No way. Why would he get pissed about you being really good? That's stupid."

"Yeah, well he, um, he doesn't like it when he thinks I'm showing off."

Peter had gotten to know Dick well enough to know there was more going on here than what was coming out in the stilted sentences. "Is he pissed that you're spending time with us?"

"I don't know. Maybe. He thinks…" How to say this? "He thinks I have enough important stuff to keep me busy, more than enough, and I guess he doesn't want me to lose focus or something."

"Important stuff? Like what?"

Being Robin, crime fighting, secret identities, staying on the honor roll, leading the Titans, fighting intergalactic villains, cleaning his room; just your regular kid stuff. "You know, school and stuff and he wants me to start learning about his business so I can work there when I get older. Stuff like that."

"Yeah, but you're on the honor roll and it's not like you're going to be interning or leaving for Harvard this week or anything; what's his problem?"

"He's okay, he's just, I guess he wants me to just concentrate on things he thinks are important right now."

"Yeah, well someone should clue him in that you're fourteen, not twenty-four."

"But I started working when I was four so he expects me to be really responsible."

"And how is you being really good at something and spending time with your family irresponsible?"

"It's…hard to explain." A moment of silence then Dick came back on the line, seemingly having made a conscious decision to shake off this mood and be more like himself. "Hey, I was wondering, if I can talk Bruce into it, you want to get together this weekend?"

"Yeah, sure, great. Your place or ours?"

"Um, I don't usually invite myself places, but I've never really spent time at your house. You think your parents would mind?"

"God, are you kidding? They'd love it. Oh wait, shit…"

"What? Problem? I can make it some other time."

"No, it's not that. It's just that my dad may not have enough tickets for the game."

"Oh. Well, if it's okay, I could maybe ask Bruce. He has a skybox at the arena. Well, really Wayne Corp owns it, but we can use it. We can all fit in there; it's pretty big. Would Uncle James mind that?"

"Yeah, right, he'd completely hate it—not. Well, unless if the champagne is domestic."

"Well, why don't you ask Aunt Pat and if she's okay with it I'll ask Alfred if he can give me a ride. Would that work?"

Dick could hear Peter yelling to his mother; 'Mom, is it all right if Dick comes over this weekend?…Thanks.' "She's good with it."

"Okay, great. I'll talk to Alfred and call you back later."

* * *

Dick found Alfred where he usually was, in the kitchen cleaning something, and asked him about a visit to Connecticut that weekend.

"I believe the master declared that you're grounded, if you'll recall. You'll need to take the matter up with him. However, I would suggest that you make sure that you're capable of maintaining a calm demeanor before you approach him."

Ten minutes later down in the Batcave, Dick asked Bruce. "I'd like to see my cousins this weekend. They said I could stay at their house and my uncle and grandfather want to see the Golden's game on Saturday."

Bruce wasn't sure where this was coming from. Sure Dick was upset, for that matter so was he, but the boy knew that he was grounded and the last thing Bruce wanted was for him to be spending time there with his grandfather about to spring something. Well, at least he was speaking in a normal voice and was asking in a reasonable manner. Not that he was happy Dick was forgetting he was grounded for two months.

"You know I wanted you to stay around here. Why would you think that I would agree…"

"Can I go see my family? C'mon, Bruce, you know this isn't a normal situation for any of us. I want to see my cousins, that's not so hard to understand."

After Alfred had made clear his feelings about Bruce coming down so hard on Dick with several long suffering sighs and a highly arched eyebrow, Bruce was inclined to be more lenient than he would have been otherwise, but that didn't change the fact that he didn't want Dick anywhere near his grandfather until the dust was settled.

"Of course it isn't, but I'd like it of you spend a little more time around here; you know, since you met your cousins the two of us have hardly spent any time together and I was thinking that we could get away ourselves this weekend. You have Friday off; I was thinking we could go somewhere warm. What would you say to that?"

The look on Dick's face spoke volumes. "That would be great, but I was really hoping that I could see my cousins."

"So bring them along. We can take the jet to the place in the Bahamas; it will make a nice change from skiing."

"…Really?"

Bruce gave one of his rare genuine smiles. "Tell them that your aunt can come along if she wants, too." Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. Besides, this would work well with what he'd been setting up the last few days. Neither Lloyd or Simpson would be able to get away this weekend and so they'd have no reason to suspect what was going on.

"Bruce, God, you're the best! Thank you—this is going to be awesome." He was half way to the stairs when, "Um…am I still grounded?"

"I may have been hasty with that." Dick was about to bolt to call when Bruce's voice stopped him. "By the way, I think I might have forgotten to mention it, but even though you should have known better; I was pretty impressed that you landed a sponsorship deal without even trying. I knew you were good, but I guess I hadn't realized just how good you've gotten on that thing."

Dick's look of pride and happiness was worth everything.

Dick called the Simpsons to extend the invitation which was accepted immediately. His uncle and grandfather would have to decline as they had work they couldn't put off, but the rest would love to go. Yes, by all means the kids could leave school early on Thursday to drive down to the commercial airport where Bruce kept his plane. Wonderful, thank you, they were all excited about it and thrilled to be invited. They'd be there early.

Everyone was happy; Bruce had kept Dick away from his grandfather and uncle, Dick wasn't grounded and would be seeing his cousins, his cousins were going on a private jet to a billionaire's beach house in the Bahamas, James would see the game from courtside and Philip would be able to find out what the private detective had learned.

As soon as he knew Bruce Wayne's dirty secrets—and everyone had some, he would be ready to play his hand.

* * *

"Well, what did you find?"

"It's all in there, including pictures."

"Is there enough to do what I want?"

"I think you'll be satisfied, Mr. Lloyd. Wayne is a pretty closed up kind of guy, but we managed to find a few things he'd rather not have spread around."

"Good."

Philip opened the thick manila envelope and pulled out the papers. There were pictures of Wayne with at least twenty-five different women over the last couple of years, all beautiful and all hanging on his arm. There were records of at least a dozen paternity suits filed against the man since he'd been in college, though none of them had found for the various plantiffs. There was a copy of the guardianship papers for Dick, along with copies of Wayne's holdings and details of his assets and net worth. There were pictures of the main house and his various vacation properties around the world.

There was an extensive listing of Wayne's personal interests and charitable pursuits along with every club or organization the man had ever belonged to.

There were copies of his report cards going back to first grade.

There were character assessments from everyone from his old classmates to his employees to his neighbors.

There was a copy of an old speeding ticket from college; sixty in a twenty-five mile an hour zone.

Somehow, there was a copy of his current will, judging by the date and this was something Philip was interested in reading in detail.

There were a number of newspaper and tabloid stories about the rumors concerning the relationship between Wayne and Dick, along with a couple of things suggesting that the old butler was an odd duck, as well. There might be some serious ammunition there.

Last, but most certainly not least, was a copy of Mary and John's assets at the time of their deaths along with the details of Dick's trust. It confirmed what he'd suspected, though the numbers he'd been playing with were far too small. His fourteen year old grandson seemed to have a personal net worth in excess of fifty million dollars which he would take control of when he turned twenty-one.

Jesus.

* * *

"Bruce? I just wanted you to know that all that fake information we planted seems to have been photographed or copied, just like we thought it would be."

"You're sure, Lucius?"

"Positive."

"Good, keep me informed."

* * *

The plane landed on the out island two hours after it took off with only one surprisingly polite photographer to record their arrival for the media. The Wayne household had almost no luggage as they kept clothes and such on hand in each of Bruce's houses, so as soon as the guests bags were gathered a short water taxi ride had them on the private island in time for a swim.

As was to be expected, it was a showplace with a dozen large rooms, two guest cottages, tile floors, high ceilings, rattan and bamboo furniture softened with oversized cushions, three private reef-protected beaches for their use and all the possible toys one would assume would be in such a place. Jet skis, motor and sail boats, scuba and snorkeling equipment, fishing rods and a state of the art computer was at their disposal along with the more plebian pool and ping pong tables. Even Alfred had the luxury of a live-in staff to help him and admitted they were acceptably competent.

Should they get bored, they were a short boat ride to the neighboring islands for shopping and restaurants.

Bruce took the boys water skiing the first day, teaching the cousins who had never tried before and encouraging Dick to try skiing bare foot for the first time and praising him when he made a complete circuit around their own small island. Tomorrow he promised they could try parasailing if they thought they could handle it.

It was paradise.

* * *

Back in New York, Philip's investigation had started, bringing up all the old allegations of impropriety between Bruce Wayne and his under-aged ward.

Aware of what was happening, Batman slammed the door of the Batmobile in a rare display of anger, wheels squealing as he went out for the night's work.

The lights were still on at ten-thirty in Philip Lloyd's office. The man was there working along, putting the finishing touches on the complaint that would be filed Monday morning.

"I thought we had an understanding about you leaving this alone."

Lloyd knew he had a strong circumstantial case, and therefore, he had nothing to fear from this man. "I'm protecting my grandson. I have reason to believe he's in danger of being sexually abused. There are also suspicions that he's being kept away from contact and normal friendships with young people his own age, as well as suggestions that there are some financial dealings which indicate possible impropriety."

"Indeed?"

"I have pictures and sworn statements that will hold up in any court." That was a bluff, but it sounded good.

Batman produced a sheaf of papers and laid them on the desk.

The man disappeared again, just as he had the last time. Curious, but calm, Philip started to skim the things he'd been given but after a few words, started reading closely. Then he started from the beginning and read them all again.

Gone cold, he picked up the report he was preparing, along with the research, pictures and files he'd had done to support his case. Page by page, he fed them into the shredder by the side of his desk. When he was done, he fed the papers and pictures Batman had just given him into the machine as well.

TBC

1/27/05

10


	9. Chapter Nine

Title: Man on the Bench-part nine

Author: Simon

Characters: Dick Grayson and Manor crew, plus OC

Rating: PG-13

Summary: A trip to the Bahamas and the truth starts to come out.

Warnings: none

Disclaimers: These guys aren't mine, they don't belong to me, worst luck, so don't bother me.

Archive: Fine, but if you want it, please ask first.

Feedback: Hell, yes.

Thank you, Syl.

**The Man on the Bench**

Chapter Nine 

Philip called James as soon as he left the office. "I want you to stop what you're doing. There's been a change of plans."

"But I thought that…"

"I said to forget it. Did you hear me?"

Something was really wrong. "Yeah sure, I heard you, whatever you say. I'll pull the plug on this. Phil, are you positive you want to do this?"

"I'm positive. And, if anyone asks? This never happened and we never even considered anything, do you understand me?"

"It never happened."

Hanging up the pay phone, Philip got back in his car and drove himself home. That was it. There was no way he could go forward with this, not now. Not knowing what Batman had found out and would probably not hesitate to hand over to either Wayne or the police.

He was through either way.

If he went forward with it, he'd be ruined. If he stopped, he was ruined anyway.

The game was up.

* * *

On Bruce's island the kids were spending their last night on the beach in a tent, with light sleeping bags and a campfire. The water was lapping about twenty feet away; they were safely above the high tide line. Alfred had managed to produce a bag of marshmallows, and Bruce had taken Pat across the strait for a final dinner at one of the surf side restaurants that featured local fish.

"So, you can like come here anytime you want? You just get on a private jet and two hours later you're here, right? God—how do I get to be you, Dude?"

"It's not like that." His cousins gave Dick a collective look. "It really isn't most of the time. I mean, this is only the second time we've even been here since Bruce bought the place and that was like three years ago."

"No way. Man, if I owned this place I'd like live here. You'd have to pry me off with a spatula or something."

"…Bruce is really busy, you know. He's just, he's really busy most of the time."

The cousins had gathered that.

Too serious, Peter thought; time for a mood lightener. "Hey, Dick, can we swim?"

"Huh?"

"Sharp comeback, Dude. You know, can we go swimming here at night or will we die?"

"You swam here all day and you didn't die." Dick caught on to what Peter was doing and was suddenly happier than he'd been in a long time—even happier than after finding that he had family. They cared about him. They actually cared if he was sad or upset—it was a novel thought. God, he really liked it.

"Yeah, but now it's dark…"

"And the boogeyman will swim up and bite off our 'nads…"

God, if only Garth was here, it would be really funny. "Yeah, well, if that happens, Bruce will have you medivaced somewhere."

"Ride on a chopper in exchange for nads? Do it, Peter!"

"Steve—you would. Man, I'm not trading away anything before I get a chance to use 'em…"

"So by that reasoning, the next time you'll try night swimming will be, maybe two thousand and seventy-five? At least I don't come from the wuss side of the family."

"Bite me, Cuz."

"That an offer?"

Peter smiled really large, throwing a raw marshmallow at Dick. "Dude! You managed gross—Dick, you're learning. Two years with us and you'll develop some serious snark."

Dick shoved his cousin's shoulder. "Peter; go swim. Jerk." Laughing and throwing the rest of the marshmallows at each other, the four of them headed for the water.

* * *

"But, Philip, what I don't understand is why Batman gives a rat's ass about the boy? This seems like pretty small fish for someone who hangs his cowl in the Justice League."

"I've been wondering that myself, and I've come up with a couple of possibilities." Philip had driven over to James' house, knowing no one would be there and they could talk alone. Carolyn was home, and he didn't want her to hear any of this.

"Such as?"

"Think, James, think. We know that he bases himself around Gotham so he probably lives around the city, right?"

"Okay."

"And he's got to have some resources, financial resources to do what he does. Face it—all that equipment he uses doesn't come cheap. He seems to have custom everything from his costume to his car to his weapons. That's costing him some serious money, so we know he either has a lot on his own or has some major benefactor paying the bills."

"Makes sense, sure."

"Now Dick lives with Wayne, the second richest man in the country."

"And…?"

"And that's the crowd they hang out with. Money, serious money, and people who want to make sure that what they have is protected."

James wasn't a stupid man, but this wasn't the kind of thing he was good at. "So, you're saying that Wayne is Batman?"

Philip breathed out in some exasperation. "Pay attention, James. Who came to visit me, twice?"

"Batman." He hated when Philip patronized him. Really hated it.

"Right. And where are Pat and the kids right now?"

"On Wayne's island in the Bahamas."

"And Wayne is acting as host. I spoke to Pat twenty minutes ago, and they're, as we speak, eating chocolate mousse by the beach in some obscenely expensive restaurant down there. Wayne probably either has Batman on his payroll or has some shit on him to keep him under control."

"So that's why Batman is leaning on you? You really think that? Well, stay with me here, Phil. How do we know that Wayne isn't Batman himself? Huh? I mean he's richer than God, and he has Dick with him, and Batman has Robin. Seems like a pretty good fit, don't you think?"

"James. You're not paying attention. Wayne is in the Bahamas. Batman was here. Two and two, they equal four."

He really, really hated being patronized. Really hated it. "But I think that maybe someone else could have been playing Batman; that could happen, right?"

Another long-suffering sigh. "The man who was standing in my office was the real deal. Wayne is on an island. Period."

"But what about Dick being Robin? I mean, think about it, Phil. Really—listen to me. He's about the same age, he's athletic, he's a real smart kid and he travels in the circles Batman would have to know about. So, he could be…"

"Thinking, James. You're not thinking. Dick is Wayne's ward, not his son. The boy is an orphan and Wayne is a single man with a questionable reputation. They're checked up on regularly. They have to answer to Child Protective Services all the time. Robin is some kid who spends all his time doing police and vigilante stuff, right? Dick is an honor roll student who spends all his time either studying or being paraded as the heir apparent around Wayne Corp or those society things Wayne is always being seen at. How the hell would he be able to do both, you want to tell me that? On top of that, Robin has to be older. No fourteen, fifteen year old kid could pull off the stuff he does. Robin has to be a young looking twenty, maybe twenty-one. Besides, do you really think Batman would give the Robin all those weekends off to go skiing? He needs the kid to watch his back, for Chrissake."

"But, Phil…"

"You don't think, James."

God, he hated being patronized. "So what was it he found on you? What was in those papers tonight?"

"James, I've told you about this before. You keep your nose out of things that don't concern you." Philip drained the third glass of scotch he'd been working on. "Pat and the kids get back tonight, don't they?"

"They're on the road now, should be here in half an hour or so."

Philip nodded. "They have a good time with Wayne?"

"I guess they had a great time. Pat says he invited them back for Spring Break."

Something about Lloyd's expression softened and he nodded. "Good. I like to hear they're having fun, and I'm glad we have Dick in the family now; that kid's a pistol, isn't he? You know? I still can't get over how much he looks like Mary, can you?"

"She was a beauty and he's a handsome boy."

"He's going to be all right." Philip got on his coat. "You take care, James. You hear me?"

"You can stay a while if you want. You could see Pat and the boys when they pull in."

Philip had his hand on the knob. "I'm good, James. You say hello to them for me. Look, if Carolyn calls looking for me, tell her I have to go out of town for a few days; tell her I had to see Rodney Greaves in London about a case."

"Where are you really going?"

"To clean up some things, and I don't want my wife or daughter asking a lot of questions so help me out with this, will you?"

"You know I will. You be careful, Philip, all right?"

"I'll be fine. Look, I'll call you in a few days, a week, tops."

"Okay. You drive carefully. Get there safe."

* * *

"Thank you, Mr. Wayne, this has been totally awesome."

"You're welcome, Steve. You'll all have to come back, all right? Maybe your next school break would be good for everyone?"

"Did you hear that, Mom? Can we? Do you think we could go back there for Spring Break?"

They were loading the Simpson's' bags into their SUV at the private airport outside of Gotham following their flight home. The temperature was a good sixty degrees colder than the one they'd just left. Snow was on the ground and the sky looked like more would be falling any minute. Talk about a change of scene.

"We'll see, honey. Bruce, thank you so much, this has been such a treat for all of us." She hugged him goodbye and kissed Dick on the cheek. "And you; next week we're back up at the condo, so if it's all right with Bruce, you plan on coming, all right?"

"Bruce?" Dick looked over.

"I guess so, as long as your homework gets done."

"I'll call you guys, okay?"

"Later, Dick—thank you, Mr. Wayne." The SUV's doors slammed, they kids waved through the windows, and Alfred had the Jaguar retrieved from the private garage where it was kept safe and out of the weather.

"So, you had a good time, chum?" Bruce was in the back. Dick, as was his preference was up front with Alfred, insisting that he hated the whole 'chauffeur thing'.

"It was great, Bruce; thank you for doing that, and it was terrific to have you with us this time. Do you think you can come skiing with us next week? Maybe?"

"Well, we'll see. Now, I assume you'll have homework to do when we get back?"

Vacation was over, back to normal. "…Some, yes."

"Hey, Dick? I had a good time, too. We'll make sure we do this again soon."

Dick's smile, the one that lit up a room, broke through.

* * *

"Pat. It's Mom, let me speak to your Dad, will you?"

Pat and the kids had been home about two hours when the phone rang. "He's not here, Mom. When did he come over?"

"I've no idea, sometime this evening I thought, but he told me he had a business dinner so I'm not sure. I just got a message on the machine saying he was stopping at your place on the way home."

"Well, I guess he's come and gone and James is at the club playing tennis now, but I can ask him when he gets home. Everything okay? Your voice sounds a little funny."

"Oh, you know your father; just some more of his overworking himself and not telling me a thing about it. I'm sure he's just stuck with some boring client or something. Did you have a nice trip, dear?"

"It was incredible, Mom. I tell you, my next husband is going to be a multi-billionaire playboy."

"Make sure he has a father or uncle for me, sweetie. It's a shame that as soon as you come back it starts snowing again. Well, I'll see you for lunch on Wednesday?"

"Of course. If I see Dad, I'll tell him that you're looking for him."

* * *

"James, did Dad stop in here earlier this evening?"

"No, but he called. Why do you ask?" James had just carried Pat's suitcase up to the bedroom for her.

She was taking off her travel clothes so she could take a shower. There's nothing worse than getting back from a trip and having beach sand still stuck places it shouldn't be. "My mother seemed to think he was headed this way. What did he have to say for himself?"

"He wanted to welcome you back, that's all. Oh, and he mentioned that he had to see that client of his in London. I think he was headed for the airport." He followed her into the bathroom while she got the water started. "Did he forget to tell your mother about one of his trip again?"

"Probably. You're all tanned; good trip?"

"Fabulous trip. White beaches, blue sky, clear water and servants to do everything." She had her thick terry robe around her.

"Ah, so the rich are different."

"Yes, they have lots more money." She started the water, adjusting the temperature. "Help me wash my back?"

"It's the least I can do…"

* * *

Alfred handed Bruce the morning newspaper as he was about to sit down for his breakfast.

"Where's Dick this morning? Did he oversleep?"

"Quite the opposite. He was up and out by six-thirty this morning. He said that he had to attend some special study session in preparation for a government test, I believe."

Bruce nodded and started to scan the front page.

"Master Bruce?"

"Yes?" He didn't look up.

"Forgive my curiosity, but may I ask what it was it that you found about Master Dick's grandfather which could prove embarrassing for the man?"

Bruce put down the paper. As long as Dick wasn't here, he could talk and Alfred had a right to know what and whom they were dealing with. "He's in serious trouble with the IRS. He hasn't even filed for the last three years and he was delinquent making his payments for three years before that; in fact he's been in and out of trouble with his taxes for over twenty years. It was about to blow up against him. I learned that he's about to be charged with tax evasion and will probably serve time for it. He'll also probably lose his house."

"Oh, dear. No wonder he's looking towards the young master to help him out of his troubles."

"From what I gathered, he's been keeping his financial problems from his wife and daughter, though I have a feeling the son-in-law knows more than he's letting on." He sipped some of his coffee. "Then I started doing some digging and found out that he's still involved with Zucco as more than just a lawyer." Alfred looked shocked at that bit of news. "Evidently Philip has been borrowing money from Zucco's holdings and, reasonably, Zucco wants it back. I suspect Lloyd took the money without bothering to ask first. In addition to that, Tony has been running his 'family' from his jail cell, and Philip is the go-between for a lot of the orders." Alfred raised an eyebrow. "Not exactly smart."

"Why on earth…?"

"Lawyer/client confidentiality. He's a relatively safe messenger."

"But that's the man who murdered his own daughter. It's beyond my understanding how any father could even consider such actions." It took a lot to shock Alfred.

"I talked with Tony Zucco myself last week. He told me, after some encouragement, that the plan was to just kill John Grayson, but the ropes broke early and Mary fell with him. That wasn't supposed to happen. That way, if just John had been killed, Mary would have been almost forced to go back to her family with Dick for reconciliation, and Zucco still would have made his point of Haley needing protection. It was a win-win solution for both problems, both Zucco's and Lloyd's."

"Despicable."

Bruce nodded. "Then a few days before we went to the Bahamas, I managed to get some new pictures of Philip with both of his mistresses. Rather graphic pictures. I gather that his wife and daughter don't know about that, either."

"Good Lord."

"I dropped off enough of the evidence I have to make Philip hopefully back off, and since we haven't heard from him in a week, I think the hint was taken."

"So, if all of this was to come out and he were to be prosecuted, he'd be facing the loss of his homes, likely his marriage, his family, his livelihood and his reputation, in addition to facing incarceration. Master Bruce, I'm afraid I can't feel sorry for the man after what his actions caused the young master to suffer."

"Neither can I." Bruce heard the clock in the hallway chime the time. "I've got to get going. When Dick comes in later, please tell him I want to go out early this evening; there's a rumor Catwoman may be looking for a jewelry store to rob tonight."

"I'll be sure to tell him, sir."

* * *

"Mom? Is Dad back from London yet?"

"No, honey, not yet. Did you want to talk to him about something in particular?"

"No, not really. I was just going to ask you both over for dinner Saturday; Dick is coming for the weekend, and I thought you'd like to see him."

"How are all the boys getting along? Still going well, is it?"

"Peter and Dick seem like they're becoming best friends, I can hardly get them off the phone at night. I think they're worse than Mary and I used to be when we were talking to boys in high school."

"That's lovely, dear. I'd love to come and if your Dad is back, he'll be there, too. Thanks, Pat."

* * *

Bruce was in his office, looking over the annual financial report and pretending not to understand it, when in fact, he did, of course.

"But, Lucius, if we're making a profit, shouldn't we order the Dom instead of the Cook's for the stockholder's meeting?"

"I think the stockholders would prefer to actually see their profits instead of drinking them, Bruce."

"You think so? Well, I suppose you know best, but I'd think they'd appreciate some good champagne for a change."

"Uh, Bruce, have you heard anything new from Philip Lloyd?"

"Goodness, no and good riddance. I simply didn't like that man at all. His wife told Dick—she's Dick's grandmother, you know. She's a lovely woman. Anyway, she told Dick that he's in London with some client."

They'd hear something when he got back, no doubt. "Fine, let sleeping dogs lie."

"…? Well, whatever you say. Are you sure about the Cook's, Lucius? I really think the Moet is much nicer…"

* * *

"Mom? Isn't Dad back yet? It's been two weeks, what did he say when you spoke to him?"

"Pat, honey, I haven't heard a word."

Oh, God. Dad had a new girlfriend. It was always the same; he'd go on a 'business trip' for a few weeks, not call, and they'd know. God, poor Mom. "Well, I'm sure he'll be home soon."

"I suppose."

* * *

"Master Bruce?" Alfred walked into the large bedroom only slightly earlier than normal.

Bruce sat up, instantly awake.

"Forgive my barging in like this, but I'm afraid that a report came over the police radio, and you need to be made aware before Master Dick learns from another source."

"What is it?" Alfred's demeanor was all wrong. He was used to bringing police reports to Bruce, local or JLA. This was nothing unless it was personal somehow.

"The police have responded to a report from a jogger who happened upon a wrecked car on the lower part of the valley trail. You know the path, sir; it's closed during winter because of the ice and all, but with the warm weather we've had, it seems to now be open. There were still remains in the vehicle. I ran a check on the license plate and…"

"Alfred, tell me whose car it is." This wasn't like Alfred at all.

"It's Mister Lloyd's car, Master Bruce. It's too soon for a positive identification, but from the description it can only be him, sir."

Oh, Jesus. The man was dishonest, amoral, desperate and whatever else he was, but he was still Dick's grandfather, and the boy would be devastated by another loss. "Is Dick still asleep?"

"Yes, sir."

"This won't be in the paper until tomorrow, but his cousins will probably call. I'll have to break it to him first." God, no. What time was it? Almost seven, Dick would be up any minute. Standing and putting on the robe Alfred held for him, Bruce walked down the long hallway to Dick's room.

TBC

1/30/05

12


	10. Chapter Tenconclusion

Title: Man on the Bench-part ten/conclusion

Author: Simon

Characters: Dick Grayson and Manor crew, plus OC

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Conclusion

Warnings: none

Disclaimers: These guys aren't mine, they don't belong to me, worst luck, so don't bother me.

Archive: Fine, but if you want it, please ask first.

Feedback: Hell, yes. I'm neither a lawyer nor a tax attorney, so bear with me, please. And I did check; Cell phones would have been available around this time period.

**The Man on the Bench**

Part Ten 

The funeral was four days later. Dick sat in the front row between his grandmother and his aunt. Uncle James was at the end of the pew, and the three cousins were between their parents. Bruce was a couple of pews back and Alfred wasn't there at all.

The morning Bruce had broken the news of his grandfather's death to Dick was among the most difficult of Bruce's life, which was saying something. It wasn't seven yet when he had gone to the boy's room and quietly sat on the edge of the bed, waking Dick.

"…Bruce…Did I oversleep?" Dick sat up, still not completely awake. And why was Bruce here? Alfred was the one to get him up if he was late coming down to breakfast.

"No, it's still early. Something's happened you need to know about." Looking at Dick's face, hair tousled from sleep, eyes not completely opened, Bruce just quietly said what had to be said. "The police found a car in the canyon near your cousin's house; that one in the park the road overlooks. The car is your grandfather's."

Dick went pale. "Bruce…?"

Bruce just nodded; there was no need to actually say it. He put his hand on Dick's neck, rubbing slightly and trying to give the boy some contact or grounding. There was no response.

Dick gave little reaction at all, just sitting there in his bed; the covers still half covering him, his chest bare. Apropos of nothing, Bruce wondered when Dick stopped wearing any kind of shirt to bed; the boy was growing up and some part of Bruce's mind registered that it always seemed to sneak up on parents when they least expected it to happen. He wasn't a little kid anymore and it was a shock. The first time Dick had dealt with major deaths in his life he'd been a child; now he was a young man.

They sat there for several long seconds before Dick suddenly looked panicked. "I'm gonna…" He scrambled from the bed to the bathroom, violently retching into the toilet over and over again. When he seemed to have stopped, Bruce handed him a glass of cool water and, kneeling, rubbed a damp washcloth over his face and the back of his neck as Dick still sat there on the floor.

Without warning Dick crumbled, his arms went around Bruce, and he cried convulsively for long minutes, his body shaking and his hands clutching around Bruce's back with bruising strength. When Alfred appeared silently in the doorframe, Bruce shook his head to leave them alone. It was more then two hours before Bruce made his way downstairs alone.

"Please call Dick's school, if you haven't already done so, and inform them of a death in his family. Also, please call my office and let them know I don't expect to be in for the next few days."

"Is Master Dick…" He seemed at a loss for words. "Is there anything I might do for him?"

"He spoke to his cousin Peter a few minutes ago and I think he wants to go to their house and possibly stay over until after the service. Perhaps you might make sure he has whatever he'll need for that."

"Of course, sir." Alfred turned to his work then hesitated again. "Even if Mister Lloyd wasn't all we might have wished, he was still the young master's grandfather and to lose him like this after only just finding him—I can only hope, do you think he'll be all right, sir?"

"He's strong." Bruce seemed to almost be trying to convince himself.

"Yes, but he's so young, sir."

"He still has the rest of them, and his grandmother. And he still has us, Alfred."

"The special bond between a child and a grandparent is…"

Bruce put his hand on the man's shoulder. "Alfred, he still has you and you've been more to him than Philip Lloyd could ever have been." Bruce was pleased at the effect his words had on the old man. "I'm going downstairs to learn what I can about this accident."

"Do you think it might have been something else?"

Bruce didn't want to assume, but… "He was upset, may have been drinking and the roads were bad so it could have been a simple accident, but with the people he worked with, I wouldn't rule out anything until I know more facts."

"Of course, sir. And Master Dick?"

"See what you can do for him, will you?"

"Yes, sir, that goes without saying."

* * *

The ninety-minute ride to the Simpson's' was the only time Alfred could remember driving with Master Richard when he hadn't spoken a single word other than a simple and subdued 'Thank you' as he lifted the bag containing his clothes out of the back seat.

Peter came out of the front door, nodded at Alfred, took the bag from his cousin and carried it into the house.

"Alfred? Do you want to come in or anything?"

"No, thank you, Master Peter. Master Dick, should you need anything or find you've changed your mind, you know…"

"I know. I'll call you when we know what's going on with the funeral and stuff." That was all Dick said before following his cousin inside and closing the door. Climbing back into the driver's seat, Alfred started the engine and backed the car out of the driveway for the ride home.

Upstairs, Dick sat on Peter's bed; they'd pull the trundle out later like they did every time he stayed here. "So, how's everybody handling this?"

Peter, who had never experienced the death of someone close to him, had trouble stopping himself from crying again. He'd loved his grandfather and to lose him in something as dumb as a car accident…it was stupid and he was angry and hurt and didn't begin to know how to make any sense or peace out of this. "You've been through this before; how do you do it?"

Dick was looking out the window. It was a sunny day and warmish. The snow was melting. "You just do it, there're no special tricks." He looked at Peter. "You just do it; one hour at a time. It's not like you have a choice."

Peter nodded. "Mom's a mess, you'll see. I think Grandma is handling it all right; she's doing what she always does when something goes wrong, just kind of takes a deep breath and deals."

"She's smart, that's what you have to do, at least at first, and then you take time and it sorts itself out. It did for me, anyway. Eventually."

Dick was the only kid his age who'd been through funerals, and Peter was counting on his cousin to show him how.

The next three days were better than any of the cousin's thought they'd be, which isn't to say they were good. Dick's being there helped a lot, though. He was matter-of-fact about things without being cold or standoffish, and when someone had to go into the other room to cry, he would follow but usually not bother to say anything, knowing that the words didn't really matter. Sometimes he'd just be there with whoever it was and sometimes he'd put a hand on a shoulder or give Chip or his aunt a hug. He was quiet and strong, and it really helped.

The boys, the cousins all gravitated to Dick during the lead-up to the funeral. One by one they would find him out in the yard or quietly watching a movie by himself, and start talking out their confusion to him. He always listened and asked the right questions in return. It helped them all.

At some point in the blur, Pat thought that this was probably how he'd handled the deaths of his parents and was lucky that she didn't know the reality of what he'd really gone through in the weeks following his being orphaned. When she said something to him about how well he was coping, he let her think that he'd always been able to handle things this well. In fact, those weeks were burned into his memory, where they would remain all his life.

He did know what it was like to lose someone for no good reason and he knew there were no easy answers. What mattered was just knowing that someone cared. He knew that because he hadn't had it, and he knew how desperately he'd needed it.

The funeral mass was on Thursday at St. Ignatius. It was a full high mass and a good chunk of it was in Latin, which his grandmother preferred. The church was about half filled and no one got up to speak personally about Philip Lloyd. Dick went up to the rail with his cousins to take communion, something he hadn't done in years and when he walked back to his seat, he saw the surprised look on Bruce's face, but he didn't care. This didn't really involve him because, while it was nice of him to be there for Dick, it wasn't Bruce's family. There had been a time in Dick's life when mass and communion were important. Alfred had told him, early in his time at the Manor, that 'the Master doesn't generally do that sort of thing'. That was fine, Bruce didn't even have to really understand, but this was important to Dick at that moment.

* * *

While Dick was coping with the immediacy of his grandfather's death and his cousin's emotional leaning on him, Batman was accessing the initial accident reports. That evening, as soon as darkness fell, he materialized in James Simpson's home office. The man was on the phone, door closed for privacy when he became aware that he wasn't alone.

The voice was low; James had to strain to hear the words. "I'm going to tie you to this and it's going to stick. Do you understand me?"

"But, but, it wasn't, I didn't…"

The Bat gave him the smallest, coldest smile he'd ever seen.

James knew with certainty that this time he wouldn't get away with it.

From that moment, it was just a matter of time before the house of cards collapsed.

* * *

It occurred to Dick, over the days he was staying with the cousins, that the funerals must have been something like this when his parents had died, when he hadn't been allowed to attend, when he'd been locked in a cell at Juvie. There would have been the same shock and the same anger and railing against fate. The difference, of course, was that today the family had each other, while the last time he'd been cut out, ignored.

He kept his feelings about that to himself. There was no point.

After the funeral was finished and the reception at Aunt Pat and Uncle James' house was over, after everyone had left and the food was put, away John Penn, Philip's law partner, asked the adults to please join him in the living room for the reading of the will. The kids went upstairs to change out of their suits, pretend to play computer games and eavesdrop.

Settled on various couches and chairs, John began. "I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad news at a time like this, but as you may have been aware, Philip has been having some financial problems recently."

"No, I wasn't fully aware, John. You know that he would never discuss something like that with me. I picked up some hints here and there, but…what sort of problems, how bad are they?" Carolyn wasn't one to pussy foot around.

"He's in trouble with he IRS, serious trouble, I'm afraid, and I know he was close to filing for bankruptcy protection. You may lose most of your property, Carolyn, and I doubt if there will be anything left for any of his bequests."

There was a short silence. Suspecting was one thing; hearing it said out loud was something different. "Yes, I thought as much. He would never tell me anything about this sort of thing; he just refused to discuss it, but for years now he's kept our finances separate to try to protect me if something happened." A small pause. "Am I liable for his debts?"

"I doubt it, but you won't have much left; Philip used everything he could get his hands on to try to pay things off, but…. I think, since I know you filed taxes separately for over a decade, that you may be considered an innocent spouse."

This wasn't what Pat and James expected to hear. They'd assumed a pretty good inheritance would be headed their way. Well, eventually, anyway. In fact, they'd been sort of counting on it for the college bills that would be coming in a few years.

"He'd put the main house in my name to protect it in case he was sued, so that should help, but the condos at Butternut are jointly owned. I guess they'll have to go."

John nodded. Yes, they would. "And he's in arrears with the property taxes on the main house as well."

"How much?"

"He owes almost fifty thousand and another four thousand is due on the first of the month. The town has a lien against the property and may well take the house for non-payment. The back taxes on the condos come to another twenty-seven thousand."

She looked slightly stunned; this was all coming within hours of her husband's funeral as well. "What about the cars?"

"Payments are past due with them as well, Carolyn. I expect that they'll be repossessed soon. There are also some outstanding homeowner's loans, which haven't been repaid and he took out a second mortgage on the main house. Those total another hundred and fifty thousand."

"God, Mom; how could this have happened? Daddy made good money for years and years; where did it all go?"

Carolyn shrugged. She'd known, of course, but it hadn't been any of Pat's business. Well, there was no reason to keep it secret now; besides, she was angry. "Darling, you may as well know. There was your father's pregnant mistress and child support and silence money for ten years to her, and then there had been the gifts to his other girlfriends from Tiffany's and Harry Winston. There were the trips to Paris, Tokyo and the Serengeti we treated the whole family to, including the grandchildren, and all of those hotels and meals were five star, if you'll recall."

Pat looked stunned—well, yes, but her parents had plenty of money. They all knew that.

Carolyn went on. "There were the dinners at the Four Seasons and the cruises across the Atlantic on the QE2 every year. Philip encouraged my shopping at Saks and Bendel's and Neiman's and there had been the occasional Dior or St. Laurent for special occasions. You know he always insisted that I make a good appearance."

Philip liked to live well, but even his salary couldn't keep up.

"Oh, my God, Mom. If we'd known…"

"You'd have what? Stopped him? Don't be silly; you know no one could when he wanted to do something."

And Carolyn knew he had borrowed money from Zucco over the years, as well. He'd borrowed a lot of money from Zucco.

Stupid man. She'd tried to tell him that was a stupid thing to do, but he was insistent that he could take care of it. She'd known something would happen, not that he would believe her—or maybe he did and was just too stubborn to admit that he'd made a bad mistake. Either way, he was dead and everything was a mess. And she was alone.

"All right, John, just tell me how much money I need to come up with and how long I have to get it."

The poor man looked so uncomfortable. "All in all, it looks to me that you can stave off repossession and keep one of your cars and the house and contents with about a hundred and fifty thousand, and you'll need it as soon as you can get it. You'll still owe another two hundred after that, but if you come up with the first chunk we should be able to structure reasonable payments that would come to about three thousand a month. That would also assume you're willing to return the major pieces of jewelry that are still outstanding. You'll have his death benefits, of course and I think he had a life insurance policy that should give you some income. You may have to go back to work." John looked like he was about to cry, she knew how he felt. "I know he was hoping to somehow access some of Dick's inheritance, though I can't think it's enough for any of this; maybe he was hoping to get a loan from Bruce Wayne. I don't really know. I'm so sorry, Carolyn…If I could spare the money myself, you know I would, but the twins started Stanford last year, the two younger ones are in private schools and we just put in the pool; I'm tapped out."

She nodded. She knew. "Is this owed to the IRS or to Zucco?"

"Both, it's about an even split."

Three hundred and fifty thousand; it might as well be three hundred and fifty million.

Up in Steve's bedroom the four boys were listening at the heating vent. They'd discovered this handy trick when they were each about three, and it was used more than the parents would have thought, if they'd known.

"Shit, Grandma may lose her house. And what was that about Grandpa messing up their money?"

"And screwing around?" Steve looked over at Peter. Chip might be too young to really understand, but the older brothers weren't and it was obviously that Dick wasn't missing anything, either.

Dick didn't say anything. His grandfather, his long-lost grandfather was not only screwing around on his wife and had some illegitimate kid he'd been paying for, but he'd screwed around so much that he'd been blackmailed to keep it quiet. And if that weren't enough, he had some connection with Tony Zucco—the bastard who'd killed Dick's parents and Grandpa Phil's own daughter.

Christ.

But it sounded like Grandma had nothing to do with it. In fact, it sounded like she'd gotten the short end of this for a long time now. Okay, maybe she was dumb to stay with the old prick, but, well, that was her decision. Did she even know he'd worked for Zucco?

Of course she did; she'd asked about Zucco so she knew.

Jesus.

This was all too much for Dick to deal with right now. Getting up, ignoring his cousins' questions, he used the back way to get out of the house and be alone for a while. Walking down the street, he pulled out his cell phone. "Bruce?"

"Dick, is everything all right up there? Are you all right?"

"When the fuck were you going to tell me that my Grandfather was involved in my parents' murders?"

Dick could hear Bruce inhale. It wasn't easy to shake the Bat but this seemed to have done it. "…It, he was only involved after the fact. He was Zucco's lawyer."

"Bruce…Bullshit. Zucco killed his daughter and son-in-law—and would have killed me, too, and he defended the bastard?"

"I checked him out and I'm convinced that he wasn't any danger to you. He, I think he really did want to get to know you and make you an actual part of the family…"

"And he wanted my money, too. Right? What money? I don't have anything except my Dad's broken Harley, and he should have known that better than anyone, so he was going to ask you for money, is that it? He cut off my mother when she and Dad got married. Don't even try to deny that one. I overheard the lawyer reading the will. He was in debt and since he couldn't get mine—all twenty dollars of it—he was going to ask you or Zucco to loan him what he needed." Dick stopped, then, "He killed my parents. He fucking killed my parents—his own daughter, Bruce."

Bruce could hear Dick's voice, knew he was crying.

"Dick, listen to me." He heard the labored, thick breaths coming through the line. "Are you listening? He didn't kill them; Zucco did. Your grandfather was Zucco's lawyer." This shouldn't be done over the phone. Dick needed to hear this face to face.

"C'mon, Bruce. He helped Zucco. He defended him." There was a pause for a moment. "I don't want to be here anymore, okay? Could someone get me? Tonight?"

"I'll leave right now; I'll be there in about ninety minutes."

Dick went back to the house slowly. This was worse than anything he'd imagined. He'd thought that he'd finally been welcomed into his family, that they wanted him because of his mother and because he was a cousin and a grandchild, and all Grandpa wanted was an easy way to Bruce's money.

On the ride back to the Manor they talked, Bruce telling Dick what he knew about Philip Lloyd. He told the truth, but tried as much as he could to not make the man sound like a monster. It wasn't easy.

"It wasn't as cut and dried as you think, Dick. He wasn't that black and white." The boy was looking out the window, listening. "I think he did want to get to know you, bring you back to your family and I believe that he genuinely wanted to make amends. I'm convinced of it."

"He helped Zucco."

That was the big one. "It was a two way street with them. He did help him, yes, but…" God, how to say this? "I believe that he never wanted, never had anything to do with your mother's death. From what I've been able to find out, that was a genuine accident."

"And my father?"

"Zucco picked your father as his example because he was the show's headliner and his death would hurt Haley the most. Your grandfather didn't like your Dad and…"

"…Saw it was a way to kill two birds with one stone?"

"Philip had nothing to do with the planning, Dick; he did his job after the fact."

Dick made a sound halfway between a snort and a laugh. "Big difference."

"Dick, he made bad choices, he tried to make up for them." No response. "And he was caught up with the mob; the only way out for him was a witness protection program and even that might not have worked. He had his wife and surviving daughter to think about."

"And the reason he couldn't take me in was…what was that, Bruce? I was a reminder, an inconvenience? I ate too much food? Explain that away, why don't you."

"Dick…I don't know."

"So why did you allow him to try to get close to me? After you knew all of this, why didn't you just cut him off? Why didn't you tell me what happened?"

"Because—I could contain and stop him from actually getting custody of you and I thought that you should have a chance to know your real family. It was so important to you." It sounded lame. "I thought I could control any problems…"

"So it's my fault? Christ, Bruce." Dick was confused, unsure what to accept in all of this. "What about my grandmother? Did she know what was going on? Did she know he'd been responsible for my parents' getting killed?—okay, that the man her husband worked for killed them?"

"I don't know, but she may not have. It's possible, even probable that he kept that from her. It's common not to let family members get involved in the business end of things."

They drove in silence the rest of the way, Dick not saying anything when they got home but instead heading straight to the gym where he spent the next four hours working out, hard.

* * *

"How is the young master, sir?"

"Angry, hurt, about what you'd expect."

Alfred nodded; yes, he knew. "I believe that there's some information about the crash you will want to see, sir. It's downstairs."

The first report he read confirmed what Bruce has suspected; the brakes had been tampered with and Philip Lloyd's death was murder. The question was, who'd damaged the lines? Zucco's men, afraid that Lloyd would talk or someone else; one of the many other's Lloyd had made enemies of over the years?

Bruce's gut feeling was that James Simpson was responsible, either directly or by ordering the job done. It made sense; Zucco wanted Lloyd to pay him back. If he were dead he'd never see the money he'd lent. James, on the other hand, was known to resent his father-in-law and to be jealous of the amount of money his wife's parents had lavished on the Simpson's over the years.

In addition to that, Simpson stood to gain, indirectly, if Philip was killed, through his wife's eventual inheritance. Plus, he'd gain a degree of independence he'd been lacking by acting at Philip's flunky. Add to that, if he and his wife gained custody of Dick, they could reasonably expect to also be granted trusteeship of Dick's money.

The hard part would be to prove it.

Starting tonight, Bruce would see what he could find about the details of the wreck and how, specifically, the brakes were damaged.

The second report he pulled up seemed to confirm that Carolyn Lloyd was an innocent victim of her husband's stupidity, greed and appetites. She was, from all sources, a genuinely kind woman, intelligent and educated who stayed in a bad marriage for her own reasons, whatever they may have been. Maybe it was for her daughter, maybe she simply liked the life-style. It didn't matter now.

Pat Simpson seemed equally blameless but there was evidence that James Simpson was working with his father-in-law to transfer custody of Dick to his blood family and then gain access to Dick's trust fund. Fortunately Lucius had detected activity at the brokerage house where it was invested and took care of closing down the leaks. The Wayne intern who'd run the checks was fired and charges were going to be filed against her.

So, what to do now?

Dick, upset as he understandably was, would calm down sooner or later and then he could decide whether or not he wanted to continue a relationship with his cousins; he'd probably choose to stay close to them as well as to the two women in the family. As for his uncle, well, that might be a different story. Bruce would support his decision.

There was still no reason for Dick to know about his trust fund and it's immense growth. He'd find out in due course.

Shutting down the computer, Bruce made his way to the gym. Dick was still on the high bar, doing a seemingly endless series of giant swings and Bruce could see that his hands were starting to bleed as they would when he worked too long. He'd end up tearing the calluses and need weeks for them to heal.

As he watched, Dick's swings became faster and faster, building up speed until he released at the apogee, tucked and spun almost too fast to count. The quad.

He stuck the landing, standing in place, sweaty, breathing hard.

Slowly he lowered his arms, his shoulders slumping, his head down. His voice was low. "I thought that families were, I don't know, different than that."

"No one is the Walton's, Dick. They're just people. Your grandfather made some big mistakes, like I told you—like you know, but he tried to…"

"No. He tried to use me to solve the mess he made."

Dick was right. "But he also introduced you to your cousins and your grandmother, your aunt. They didn't do anything other than accept you and make you feel welcomed." Bruce crossed over to the boy, handing him a clean towel for his hands. Alfred would attend to them soon enough.

"He defended the man who killed my parents."

"And now he's dead."

Dick sniffed, whether from emotion or the workout, Bruce wasn't sure. "I've been thinking while I was on the bar. I don't want to lose my cousins." Bruce nodded; that was no surprise. "But I'm not sure about my grandmother or Aunt Pat. Do you know if they knew anything about any of this?"

"As far as I know, they didn't."

Dick nodded, making a decision. "All right, but I won't see James again. He helped my grandfather and I know that there was more going on than you're telling me." He looked up. "I'm not stupid, Bruce. I know you were talking to Lucius about some money my parents left me that they were trying to get their hands on and I know you stopped them somehow." He took a step off the mat, pulling up the hem of his shirt to wipe his face. "Good." He even managed a half smile at that. "I knew you two wouldn't let them get near anything you didn't want them to." Suddenly Dick started quietly laughing. "I guess it's true."

Bemused by the unexpected reaction, Bruce raised an eyebrow in question. "What is?"

"That you can chose your friends but you can't pick your relatives."

"Dick…So, you're all right with all of this?"

Dick threw the towel on the floor like he always did to Alfred's annoyance. "Hell, no, but what can you do, right?"

He started towards the steps then paused. "Okay, so my grandfather was a stupid man who screwed up, ruined his own life, made life hell for me and his wife. Okay, and now he's dead and I have some family back."

"And…?" This was too fast an about face for Bruce after everything that had happened today. This was a relatively new trait he'd noticed in Dick whenever something horrible happened. The boy would pretend to shrug it off, and then would spend months brooding about whatever had upset him. This was sounding like another bout of Dick not wanting to have to deal with something that desperately needed dealing with. Alfred said the boy got it from Bruce; well, he probably did.

"And so you play the cards you're dealt. I know now why my parents were targeted, I have cousins and an aunt I actually like and a grandmother who seems like she's a pretty good one—even if she was screwed over by my grandfather." Maybe Dick was back, the eternal optimist, the one who always saw the glass as half full. "Families—amazing."

The problem, of course, was that Bruce knew that Dick was locking it all up inside and a rueful internal voice asked him where on earth the youngster might have learned that. 'Look in the mirror, old boy. He learned it from the master.'

Dick started up the stairs but stopped again after a few steps. "And Bruce? I might like to take up Burton Boards on their offer to tour South America this summer; could we maybe talk about that sometime this week? I was thinking that maybe you could take a week or two off and go along on a few of the tour stops. It would be a vacation for us. You think?"

"It might not be a bad idea, but we'll have to work out covering Robin being missing for a good part of the summer."

Dick gave him a look. "C'mon, Bruce. You know J'onn will help out—just like he did when we were in the Bahamas and 'Batman' dropped in on my grandfather."

"You knew about that?"

" 'World's second greatest detective', remember?" Dick's smile broke out. "I'm not completely stupid, you know. Like I know that wasn't an accident that killed my grandfather." This was a long way from over, but Dick wasn't out of the game.

"I was 'going out' in a while, you think you'd like to join me?"

"Busting my uncle?" Dick's face went quiet. "I think I'd rather skip it, if that's okay with you. I think I know what happened and I'd rather just not deal with it right now, okay?"

Bruce nodded. "Sure, chum."

* * *

That night Batman delivered his findings linking Dick's uncle to the murder of Philip Lloyd to the local police department in the Simpson's town.

The next day, while his sons were in school and couldn't see their father led away, James Simpson was arrested for murder. He had his passport in his pocket and a small bag packed to go. It contained one thousand dollars in cash along with a change of clothes. The plane ticket the police discovered waiting for him was for Frankfurt, one of the largest hubs in Europe. From there he could have connected to anywhere in the world. Evidence linking tools found in his basement matched up with cut marks on Lloyd's brake lines and a fingerprint was found tying him to the car's undercarriage.

The trial quickly became a media circus once the sex and money aspect of the case came out, and Dick stayed as far away from it as he could. Shielded by Wayne security, he succeeded fairly well. The Simpson boys spent several weekends at the Manor. It seemed to help.

Dick saw his cousins as often as he could, though there was some resentment on their part that he had distanced himself from their father's problems. The second trip to the Bahamas helped by giving the four boys time to reconnect and talk things out. Pat also went again, needing a break from her broken marriage and her still powerful grief about her father's death—and the revelations about the parts of his life and mind she hadn't known about.

One day while on the one of Bruce's private beaches, she thanked him for what he'd done to help. "I know you paid off the outstanding bills for Mom, Bruce. I, she would have lost the house if you hadn't. And—thank you."

Bruce was uncomfortable with the praise. It really was a small matter to him, and Dick had asked him to do it. "It was a loan, Pat. She'll pay me back."

"Yes, she will, but you still saved her house—and let her stay in touch with Dick. You don't know how much that means to her, to all of us. He's so much like Mary…"

Bruce looked over at her. "She must have been something."

"Yes. And Dick is her son; and he's yours as well." Pat looked out to the boys swimming off shore. "She'd be proud of him."

The End

2/2/05


End file.
